The Secret Adversary
“I guess you’re rattled now all right,” he drawled with some enjoyment.
“Well, here goes!” He thrust his hand into the crevice, and made a
slight grimace. “It’s a tight fit. Jane’s hand must be a few sizes
smaller than mine. I don’t feel anything--no--say, what’s this? Gee
whiz!” And with a flourish he waved aloft a small discoloured packet.
“It’s the goods all right. Sewn up in oilskin. Hold it while I get my
penknife.”
The unbelievable had happened. Tommy held the precious packet tenderly
between his hands. They had succeeded!
“It’s queer,” he murmured idly, “you’d think the stitches would have
rotted. They look just as good as new.”
They cut them carefully and ripped away the oilskin. Inside was a small
folded sheet of paper. With trembling fingers they unfolded it. The
sheet was blank! They stared at each other, puzzled.
“A dummy?” hazarded Julius. “Was Danvers just a decoy?”
Tommy shook his head. That solution did not satisfy him. Suddenly his
face cleared.
“I’ve got it! _Sympathetic ink!_”
“You think so?”
“Worth trying anyhow. Heat usually does the trick. Get some sticks.
We’ll make a fire.”
In a few minutes the little fire of twigs and leaves was blazing
merrily. Tommy held the sheet of paper near the glow. The paper curled a
little with the heat. Nothing more.
Suddenly Julius grasped his arm, and pointed to where characters were
appearing in a faint brown colour.
“Gee whiz! You’ve got it! Say, that idea of yours was great. It never
occurred to me.”
Tommy held the paper in position some minutes longer until he judged the
heat had done its work. Then he withdrew it. A moment later he uttered a
cry.
Across the sheet in neat brown printing ran the words: WITH THE
COMPLIMENTS OF MR. BROWN.
CHAPTER XXI. TOMMY MAKES A DISCOVERY
FOR a moment or two they stood staring at each other stupidly, dazed
with the shock. Somehow, inexplicably, Mr. Brown had forestalled them.
Tommy accepted defeat quietly. Not so Julius.
“How in tarnation did he get ahead of us? That’s what beats me!” he
ended up.
Tommy shook his head, and said dully:
“It accounts for the stitches being new. We might have guessed....”
“Never mind the darned stitches. How did he get ahead of us? We hustled
all we knew. It’s downright impossible for anyone to get here quicker
than we did. And, anyway, how did he know? Do you reckon there was a
dictaphone in Jane’s room? I guess there must have been.”
But Tommy’s common sense pointed out objections.
“No one could have known beforehand that she was going to be in that
house--much less that particular room.”
“That’s so,” admitted Julius. “Then one of the nurses was a crook and
listened at the door. How’s that?”
“I don’t see that it matters anyway,” said Tommy wearily. “He may have
found out some months ago, and removed the papers, then----No, by Jove,
that won’t wash! They’d have been published at once.”
“Sure thing they would! No, some one’s got ahead of us to-day by an hour
or so. But how they did it gets my goat.”
“I wish that chap Peel Edgerton had been with us,” said Tommy
thoughtfully.
“Why?” Julius stared. “The mischief was done when we came.”
“Yes----” Tommy hesitated. He could not explain his own feeling--the
illogical idea that the K.C.’s presence would somehow have averted the
catastrophe. He reverted to his former point of view. “It’s no good
arguing about how it was done. The game’s up. We’ve failed. There’s only
one thing for me to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Get back to London as soon as possible. Mr. Carter must be warned. It’s
only a matter of hours now before the blow falls. But, at any rate, he
ought to know the worst.”
The duty was an unpleasant one, but Tommy had no intention of shirking
it. He must report his failure to Mr. Carter. After that his work was
done. He took the midnight mail to London. Julius elected to stay the
night at Holyhead.
Half an hour after arrival, haggard and pale, Tommy stood before his
chief.
“I’ve come to report, sir. I’ve failed--failed badly.”
Mr. Carter eyed him sharply.
“You mean that the treaty----”
“Is in the hands of Mr. Brown, sir.”
“Ah!” said Mr. Carter quietly. The expression on his face did not
change, but Tommy caught the flicker of despair in his eyes. It
convinced him as nothing else had done that the outlook was hopeless.
“Well,” said Mr. Carter after a minute or two, “we mustn’t sag at the
knees, I suppose. I’m glad to know definitely. We must do what we can.”
Through Tommy’s mind flashed the assurance: “It’s hopeless, and he knows
it’s hopeless!”
The other looked up at him.
“Don’t take it to heart, lad,” he said kindly. “You did your best. You
were up against one of the biggest brains of the century. And you came
very near success. Remember that.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s awfully decent of you.”
“I blame myself. I have been blaming myself ever since I heard this
other news.”
Something in his tone attracted Tommy’s attention. A new fear gripped at
his heart.
“Is there--something more, sir?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Mr. Carter gravely. He stretched out his hand to a
sheet on the table.
“Tuppence----?” faltered Tommy.
“Read for yourself.”
The typewritten words danced before his eyes. The description of a green
toque, a coat with a handkerchief in the pocket marked P.L.C. He looked
an agonized question at Mr. Carter. The latter replied to it:
“Washed up on the Yorkshire coast--near Ebury. I’m afraid--it looks very
much like foul play.”
“My God!” gasped Tommy. “_Tuppence!_ Those devils--I’ll never rest till
I’ve got even with them! I’ll hunt them down! I’ll----”
The pity on Mr. Carter’s face stopped him.
“I know what you feel like, my poor boy. But it’s no good. You’ll waste
your strength uselessly. It may sound harsh, but my advice to you is:
Cut your losses. Time’s merciful. You’ll forget.”
“Forget Tuppence? Never!”
Mr. Carter shook his head.
“So you think now. Well, it won’t bear thinking of--that brave little
girl! I’m sorry about the whole business--confoundedly sorry.”
Tommy came to himself with a start.
“I’m taking up your time, sir,” he said with an effort. “There’s no need
for you to blame yourself. I dare say we were a couple of young fools to
take on such a job. You warned us all right. But I wish to God I’d been
the one to get it in the neck. Good-bye, sir.”
Back at the _Ritz_, Tommy packed up his few belongings mechanically,
his thoughts far away. He was still bewildered by the introduction of
tragedy into his cheerful commonplace existence. What fun they had
had together, he and Tuppence! And now--oh, he couldn’t believe it--it
couldn’t be true! _Tuppence--dead!_ Little Tuppence, brimming over with
life! It was a dream, a horrible dream. Nothing more.
They brought him a note, a few kind words of sympathy from Peel
Edgerton, who had read the news in the paper. (There had been a large
headline: EX-V.A.D. FEARED DROWNED.) The letter ended with the offer
of a post on a ranch in the Argentine, where Sir James had considerable
interests.
“Kind old beggar,” muttered Tommy, as he flung it aside.
The door opened, and Julius burst in with his usual violence. He held an
open newspaper in his hand.
“Say, what’s all this? They seem to have got some fool idea about
Tuppence.”
“It’s true,” said Tommy quietly.
“You mean they’ve done her in?”
Tommy nodded.
“I suppose when they got the treaty she--wasn’t any good to them any
longer, and they were afraid to let her go.”
“Well, I’m darned!” said Julius. “Little Tuppence. She sure was the
pluckiest little girl----”
But suddenly something seemed to crack in Tommy’s brain. He rose to his
feet.
“Oh, get out! You don’t really care, damn you! You asked her to marry
you in your rotten cold-blooded way, but I _loved_ her. I’d have given
the soul out of my body to save her from harm. I’d have stood by without
a word and let her marry you, because you could have given her the sort
of time she ought to have had, and I was only a poor devil without a
penny to bless himself with. But it wouldn’t have been because I didn’t
care!”
“See here,” began Julius temperately.
“Oh, go to the devil! I can’t stand your coming here and talking about
‘little Tuppence.’ Go and look after your cousin. Tuppence is my girl!
I’ve always loved her, from the time we played together as kids. We
grew up and it was just the same. I shall never forget when I was in
hospital, and she came in in that ridiculous cap and apron! It was like
a miracle to see the girl I loved turn up in a nurse’s kit----”
But Julius interrupted him.
“A nurse’s kit! Gee whiz! I must be going to Colney Hatch! I could swear
I’ve seen Jane in a nurse’s cap too. And that’s plumb impossible! No,
by gum, I’ve got it! It was her I saw talking to Whittington at that
nursing home in Bournemouth. She wasn’t a patient there! She was a
nurse!”
“I dare say,” said Tommy angrily, “she’s probably been in with them from
the start. I shouldn’t wonder if she stole those papers from Danvers to
begin with.”
“I’m darned if she did!” shouted Julius. “She’s my cousin, and as
patriotic a girl as ever stepped.”
“I don’t care a damn what she is, but get out of here!” retorted Tommy
also at the top of his voice.
The young men were on the point of coming to blows. But suddenly, with
an almost magical abruptness, Julius’s anger abated.
“All right, son,” he said quietly, “I’m going. I don’t blame you any for
what you’ve been saying. It’s mighty lucky you did say it. I’ve been
the most almighty blithering darned idiot that it’s possible to imagine.
Calm down”--Tommy had made an impatient gesture--“I’m going right away
now--going to the London and North Western Railway depot, if you want to
know.”
“I don’t care a damn where you’re going,” growled Tommy.
As the door closed behind Julius, he returned to his suit-case.
“That’s the lot,” he murmured, and rang the bell.
“Take my luggage down.”
“Yes, sir. Going away, sir?”
“I’m going to the devil,” said Tommy, regardless of the menial’s
feelings.
That functionary, however, merely replied respectfully:
“Yes, sir. Shall I call a taxi?”
Tommy nodded.
Where was he going? He hadn’t the faintest idea. Beyond a fixed
determination to get even with Mr. Brown he had no plans. He re-read Sir
James’s letter, and shook his head. Tuppence must be avenged. Still, it
was kind of the old fellow.
“Better answer it, I suppose.” He went across to the writing-table.
With the usual perversity of bedroom stationery, there were innumerable
envelopes and no paper. He rang. No one came. Tommy fumed at the
delay. Then he remembered that there was a good supply in Julius’s
sitting-room. The American had announced his immediate departure, there
would be no fear of running up against him. Besides, he wouldn’t mind if
he did. He was beginning to be rather ashamed of the things he had said.
Old Julius had taken them jolly well. He’d apologize if he found him
there.
But the room was deserted. Tommy walked across to the writing-table,
and opened the middle drawer. A photograph, carelessly thrust in face
upwards, caught his eye. For a moment he stood rooted to the ground.
Then he took it out, shut the drawer, walked slowly over to an
arm-chair, and sat down still staring at the photograph in his hand.
What on earth was a photograph of the French girl Annette doing in
Julius Hersheimmer’s writing-table?
CHAPTER XXII. IN DOWNING STREET
THE Prime Minister tapped the desk in front of him with nervous fingers.
His face was worn and harassed. He took up his conversation with Mr.
Carter at the point it had broken off. “I don’t understand,” he said.
“Do you really mean that things are not so desperate after all?”
“So this lad seems to think.”