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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
In "The Day, or The Passing of a Throne," Fred M. White weaves a compelling narrative that examines the complex interplay of power, love, and betrayal within the royal court. Set against the backdrop of an imagined monarchy, White's prose masterfully combines elements of romance and political intrigue, evoking the literary traditions of Victorian melodrama and historical fiction. The novel intricately explores the psychological dimensions of its characters, offering profound insights into the moral dilemmas they face as they navigate the treacherous waters of royal succession and personal ambition. Fred M. White, a prolific author in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, was known for his fascination with themes of nobility and the ethical challenges encountered in society's elite circles. His own experiences as a journalist and novelist, coupled with a deep understanding of the zeitgeist surrounding monarchy in that era, informed his characterizations and plot developments in this work. White's acute observations on the nature of power reflect the societal shifts and anxieties of his time, providing readers with a rich historical context. This book is highly recommended for readers interested in the exploration of character-driven political drama and the nuances of human relationships within positions of power. White's adept storytelling not only entertains but also invites profound reflection on the nature of authority and its consequences, making "The Day, or The Passing of a Throne" a significant addition to the canon of historical fiction.
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The Day, or The Passing of a Throne
Table of Contents
I - ON SECRET SERVICE
The two men in the back room behind the little Italian pastrycook's shop in Stanton-street were making history. As yet they did not know it; they were to find it out later on. The elder of the two, the man with the grey moustache ferociously cooked and the cook's cap on the back of his head, was known locally as Manuel Serano, and his younger companion as Luigi Serrai; but as a matter of fact the leader was Stuart Hallett, of the Secret Service, and the other Paul Rosslyn, his chief assistant. It was what they called early closing day so that they were free to discuss the knotty problem which had been worrying them for the past month.
"Now what do you make of it?" Hallett asked. "Have you got any further with the cipher? I suppose you are quite convinced that somebody is working a pretty powerful wireless within the four-mile radius. The question is. Can you locate it?"
"I believe I have done so," Rosslyn said quietly. "But don't you think, sir, it would be a mistake to raid the place? Those people are quite convinced that we have overlooked them and that their code is absolutely beyond detection. Well it isn't. As you know, I haven't been making a study of wireless in connection with aeroplanes the last three years for nothing. Now I believe I've got one of last night's messages decoded."Rosslyn took from his pocket what appeared to be a mass of mathematical formula. As he explained the position and value of certain letters and figures, Hallett nodded approvingly. A few moments later and he was reading for himself the last message dispatched from the mysterious wireless station on the previous evening. He read the message aloud, slowly and carefully thus:—
"The Mailed Fist is torn and bruised. The steel gauntlet is filled with its wearer's blood. The time has come to cut it off."
There was no more than that but Hallett laughed aloud in the sheer joy of discovery. He patted Rosslyn on the back.
"Egad, the chap who sent that message is right there. For three months now the Mailed Fist has been hammering against Liege and Namur and the French advance until every nuckle is broken. By gad, who would have thought three months ago that little Belgium could have held the Mad Dog by his tongue all this time. And what would the German people say if they knew the truth?"
"Heaven only knows. It strikes me that the man who sent that message wants them to know. Any way we are aware of the fact that he is a German and evidently no friend of the tin Napoleon. No; my theory is this. Somewhere in the City these people have got an office, or perhaps an whole building. It would be a building preferably which carried on the roof a telephone standard sustaining a hundred or two wires. Now you can quite see how easy it would be to mix up the aerial with these. If you have a dynamo in the basement with sufficient power you could send messages any practical distance—certainly as far as Berlin, which is what our mysterious friend seems to be aiming at."
"Wouldn't the game be spotted?" Hallett asked.
"I don't think so. Let us suppose that the basement is occupied by a firm of engineers or motor agents, anything to give them a plausible excuse for running machinery night and day. I don't want to be unduly sanguine, but I believe I have found the place; anyhow I shall know for certain to-morrow. The question is are we going to raid the show, or wouldn't it pay us better to lie low for a bit now that the cipher is no longer a secret to us? I should like to hear your opinion."
"Festina lente," Hallett said, "I think you are right. Anyhow there is nothing more to be done for the moment, and now you can go off and dine with your friend Pierre Leroux and that charming daughter of his. My dear boy, there is no reason why you should grin so uncomfortably. She is a most beautiful and fascinating girl, and when you get the authorities to see the beauties of that now silent aeroplane engine of yours you will be able to pose as a millionaire. And now good-night, and a pleasant evening to you."
Rosslyn laughed as he removed his baker's cap and big white apron, and revealed his dress clothes below. A great deal of information had found its way to the War Office through the little pastry cook's shop, and as yet nobody had guessed the identity of the two men who posed as Italian pastrycooks. Many a spy had been tracked in this way, and many a danger removed. But for the moment Rosslyn put all this out of his mind. He was not concerning himself with the troubles of Germany and the hideous breakdown of the Kaiser's plan. He knew that the war could have but one end, he knew that Germany was being slowly strangled between the locked arms of France and Russia, and that the silent sentinels guarding the Seven Seas were bringing the Teuton to his knees in the throes of starvation. But that mysterious wireless worried him. What manner of man, he asked himself, was it who flung these messages out upon the air, and what was his feeling towards Germany? It sounded like one revolutionary calling to another. It might have been a warning to Berlin, sign for the beginning of strife, the trumpet blast summoning a nation to free itself from the grip of a tyrant. Like other men who knew the truth, Rosslyn had no enmity in his heart for Germany as a nation. He knew perfectly well that she would never have gone to war had she not been dragged into it by the visionary at Potsdam and the gang who flattered him and fooled him to the top of his bent. He had every sympathy for a country brow beaten and held in bondage by a madman. He knew that the destruction of Germany would be the ruin of hundreds of thousands of Englishmen who had their money invested there. He knew that Germany wiped out would mean a dislocation of trade so great that the whole world would reel before it. And in a way his heart went out to the man who was evidently trying to tell Berlin the truth which was being so sedulously suppressed.
Still he would know to-morrow for certain, perhaps to-night if one of his trusted subordinates was successful in obtaining certain information. He was feeling pleased with the world in general as he rang the door bell of the flat in Medhurst-gardens.
II - FOUND!
Pierre Leroux was a naturalised Englishman who had come over from Alsace three or four years before to London, where he had established a highly successful business as a wine importer in the City of London. He occupied a suite of offices at the top of a building in Cannon-street, where until the war broke out, he had employed a large staff of clerks. Now, with the exception of two elderly men, the staff had gone back to the colours, and the business was at a standstill. Leroux spent most of his day there and some of his evenings in Cannon-street, but this, as he observed, was more a matter of habit than anything else.
It was a charming flat that he had in Medhurst-gardens, presided over by his daughter Vera, and Rosslyn was always certain of a warm welcome there. He had it now as he entered the cosily-furnished drawing-room there; it thrilled him to feel the pressure of Vera's slim fingers and see the light in those lovely hazel eyes of hers. As yet nothing had been said on either side, but the understanding was there, and Leroux tacitly encouraged it.
He was a typical Frenchman, a little stout, a little bald, but withal active enough, and a magnificent hand with a rapier. He discoursed eloquently on the war as they sat round the perfectly-appointed diner-table, and, Frenchman though he was, spoke in the kindliest way of the German people. His deep and abiding hatred was for the Kaiser and the militant party who had bred all these misfortunes. His eyes gleamed and his hands shook as he spoke.
"I have scores of good friends in Germany," he cried. "I would do anything to help them. Ah, to think that all this bloodshed could be brought about by one man. A man! A moustache! I laugh and I weep in the same breath when I think of him. And all this while Germany knows not the truth. They are told lies, lies of imaginary victories, whilst Berlin is on the verge of starvation. And that fool of a ruler refused to learn anything from a war which cost you English two hundred millions of money and a river of your best blood. He laugh and say you English, you are cowards. He make fun of your Lord Methuen and the defence by the Boers of Modder River. But he don't laugh no longer when the brave Belgians show him that there are others not too wise to learn. He does not laugh when the Belgians smash up his plan of campaign and make Europe smile at him. Ah, if I could get the truth through to my friends in Berlin—"
He threw up his hands in an eloquent gesture. Rosslyn hesitated for a moment before he spoke. They were all friends together.
"I believe somebody's trying to do it," he said.
But Leroux was not listening. He seemed to be utterly carried away by the force of his passionate anger.
"The Mailed Fist is torn and bruised," he cried. "The Steel Gauntlet is filled with its wearer's blood. The time has come—"
Rosslyn started as if something had stung him. For here was this peaceful Frenchman using exactly the same phase as the message which had been sent over the mysterious wireless. It was a discovery that brought Rosslyn up all standing and threw him into absolute confusion.
It was only a moment before he recovered himself again, but Vera had noticed, and there were a dozen questions in her eyes as she watched him. He saw the blood leave her face all white and anxious. Then she interrupted her father in his wild tirade.
"Did you hear what Mr. Rosslyn said?" she asked. "He said that there was someone here in London using a secret wireless station to communicate with the Kaiser's enemies in his own country. I believe that Mr. Rosslyn knows all about it."
"Gott im Himmel, ist das so?"
The words burst from Leroux like a shell. It was not a Frenchman who was speaking now, but a German, and the significance of it went home to Rosslyn, pierced his brain, and set him instantly on his guard. He showed no further sign of surprise or agitation. And Leroux, too, was smiling and apologising in the next breath.
"That is how a German would have put it," he said. "I know so many of them that I can speak English as they do. Ah, they told me I had a fortune if I went on the stage."
He turned the conversation adroitly, he chattered with ease as a man of the world on many things. But the little air of constraint was there, the chill atmosphere of suspicion. And there had been, too, one significant glance between father and daughter which had not been lost on Rosslyn. He felt quite relieved when presently he was summoned to the telephone to speak to his assistant, who whispered the fact that he had important news for him.
"I am afraid I shall have to go at once," he explained. "That is the worst of being the slave of a Government."
"Ah, but you are doing a great work, my boy," Leroux cried. "So make no excuses. Vera, my child, as our friend is going, I think I will just walk as far as the club."
But once he had parted from Rosslyn, Leroux turned his steps eastward. A taxicab deposited him presently at Cannon-street Station, where he took a first-class ticket to Blackheath. But not for use. He slid unobserved into a lavatory compartment, and when he emerged a moment later he was beyond recognition. Then he made his way rapidly to a block of business buildings, the basements of which, were given over to some engineering industry, and, late as it was, some machinery was still at work. But this did not seem to interest Leroux in the least. Quite unobserved he opened the front door with a latchkey and then toiled silently to the top of the building. There was a small office in a kind of turret, and this Leroux entered by passing through a strong door sheathed with steel on the inside, which he opened with a Chubb key. He flashed on the light and disclosed what appeared to be an apartment given over entirely to telegraphy of some kind, for here was everything necessary, including telephone accessories. Down a ladder leading to the roof a second man crept, and stood evidently waiting Leroux's instructions. The latter smiled grimly.
"We are in danger, Ludwig," he said. "And, what's more, the danger comes from the very man we have the most need of."
"Ach, you don't mean to say that Rosslyn—"
"Indeed I do. He's solved our cipher to begin with. He slipped it out to-night at dinner. He didn't know that I was watching him, but he swallowed the bait. And he hopes to lay us by the heels before morning. I heard what his assistant said, thanks to my extension receiver. At present my daughter is following him. We may get a message from her at any moment. Anyway, he knows now that I am no more a Frenchman than you are. I was fool enough to be taken off my guard for a second, and although he may not have noticed it, I am taking no risk in that way. And I know what to do."
"Got the place at once, eh? Get away or be caught like rats in a trap. Rosslyn will be here presently with the police—"
"Ah, that is where you make a mistake. He will come by himself. Rosslyn is that sort of man. And when he comes we shall be ready for him. Now put out the light and leave the door open. When I give you the signal turn on the light again at once."
They sat there waiting in patience, the minutes dragging slowly on. Yet Rosslyn did not come. No sound penetrated there, for the City was deserted like a town of the dead. And yet Rosslyn was not far off. He was taking his measurements carefully, and he was not going to leave anything to chance. He was standing there in the street below when boy seemed to rise from the gutter and thrust an envelope in his hand. He tore it open and read:—
"I implore you to go no further. If you value your safety, if you would strike a blow for your country and at the heart of the foe at the same time, forget what you have heard to-night."
When Rosslyn looked up the boy had vanished. But it was enough for Rosslyn that the warning was in Vera's handwriting. He hesitated for a moment, then retraced his steps slowly westward.
III - THE SPIDER'S WEB
What did it all mean? Rosslyn hesitated between love and duty. He was convinced in his mind now that Pierre Leroux was a particularly dangerous German spy who had cleverly passed himself off as a Frenchman for many years. Beyond all question this man had a powerful secret wireless installation on the roof of his office in Cannon-street. And beyond question Vera knew all about it. And yet it seemed almost impossible to identify the girl with her father's dark and dangerous business. It seemed hard to believe that these blue eyes which had smiled so sweetly into his could veil a soul steeped in intrigue and treachery. He could not bring himself to credit the fact that Vera had deliberately lured him on to betray his country.
It seemed to him that he loved her at that moment more than he had ever done before, and none the less because he saw quite plainly that she could be nothing to him in the future.
Perhaps she cared for him still, at any rate she was taking considerable risks to save him from a great personal danger. If that letter meant anything, it was a confession on Vera's part that she was mixed up in a conspiracy which boded no good to Great Britain. At any rate, she was a very woman after all, and if she had not cared for Rosslyn she would never have written that letter. Had she been merely playing with him she would have abandoned him to his fate, and Rosslyn was too old a hand at the game to have any delusions on the score of what that fate would be. None knew better than he that London swarmed with German spies who carried their lives in their hands, and who were prepared to commit murder to save their rascally skins. He had sat many a time at Leroux's table, where he was always a welcome guest, but that was before the outbreak of the war, and things were very different now. Still, Rosslyn was grateful enough to the girl who was risking so much to ensure his safety. He would go and see her, late as it was, and demand an explanation for that extraordinary letter. He might find Leroux at home, in which case he would have to alter his tactics a little, but he was determined to see Vera before he slept. A light was burning in the hall of the flat in Medhurst-gardens, and almost before the bell had ceased to ring, the door was flung open by Vera herself.
"Ah!" she cried, "I was afraid of something like this. Oh, why did you come here? Cannot you understand the risks I took in sending it to you. If you had only been ready to trust me!"
She threw up her slender hands with the gesture of despair. Her face was pale and sorrowful, there were dark rings under her anxious eyes. And yet it seemed to Rosslyn that she had never been so sweet and attractive before. He smiled bitterly.
"These are strange questions to come from you," he said. "If you will be good enough to give me a few minutes—"
"Come in, by all means. My father is out, and I don t expect him back for some time. But this is a mad thing you are doing, Paul."
The Christian name dropped unconsciously from the girl's lips. Paul smiled bitterly again as he heard it.
"I believe I am mad," he said. "Mad with disappointment and doubt and cut to the heart by what I have learnt tonight. I am going to be quite plain with you, Vera. You will not deny that you know how much I love you."
The girl bent her head and the blood flamed into her cheeks. There were tears in her eyes, but they did not fall.
"I—I had hoped so," the girl stammered.
"You knew it," Rosslyn said sternly. "For weeks I have made no disguise of my feelings. And I thought that you cared for me, too. In your strange way I believe that you do. And yet with all that you have not hesitated to draw from me secrets that belong to my country. You know that I occupy a responsible position, and that I should be everlastingly disgraced if I did anything in any way to help the enemy. I took you and your father for patriotic French people. I have heard you condemn the Prussians and speak of the Kaiser with loathing and contempt. Oh, it was well done—better acting I have never seen."
"It was not acting," Vera whispered shakily.
"But it must have been. Surely in the face of what happened in this very room an hour or two ago, you are not going to deny that your father is a German. You are not going to try and persuade me that he is no spy. I am quite convinced that he is one of the most dangerous ones in London. And you probably know as much about this intrigue as he does. And you know, too, that my duty is plain. When I got your note this evening I should have taken it round to Scotland Yard and told the police everything. By this time your father would have been arrested and possibly shot, at any rate a long term of imprisonment would have been inevitable. And you? Ah, my dear Vera, even your youth and beauty would have been no protection. England is in no mood now for sickly sentiment. You would have shared your father's sentence, those little white hands of yours would have grown hard with menial work. And because I know that, I am here to-night. I want to save you, because I love you, and because I shall go on loving you whatever happens. You are young and impressionable, and this adventure appeals to you. You think you are striking a blow for Germany, but how feeble and futile a blow it is! Surely you are not blind to the truth. Surely you know that the Kaiser is in the trap and that Germany is doomed. Now tell me everything, and I will do the best I can for you; more than that I will do my best for your father. I ought to be ashamed to say so, but when I look into those blue eyes of yours—"
"Oh I cannot, I cannot," Vera cried. "If you only knew how I am suffering at this minute your heart would bleed for me. I am all that you say and more, and I am a German patriot to an extent you little dream of. And it is because of this that my lips are sealed. Won't you try and believe in me, Paul? Won't you try and judge me kindly? Some day you will know the truth, but you will not know it if you go on in the way you are doing. And I do love you just as much as you love me. I have cared for you from the first, and I told my father so; I implored of him to set me free from my promise; I begged of him not to use you—"
"Ah, then I am the cat's-paw," Roslyn cried. "Your kindness to me has not been spontaneous. I have been lured here for a purpose which stills remains to be seen. Heavens, what a fool I have been! Why am I wasting my precious moments like this? I will give you one more chance, Vera. I am to trust implicitly in you, but you do not trust me a single yard. Tell me everything. Show me I am mistaken in my conclusions that you are a common spy."
Rosslyn bent down and laid his hands on the girl's shoulders. He could feel her shrink and tremble, but the melting blue eyes met his firmly enough.
"I cannot, I dare not," she said. "And I dare not because I know you will never consent to do as we wish. Oh, it sounds very elusive and mysterious, but I am not trying to blind you. You must go your way, and I must go mine, and perhaps, later on—"
"Now what are you two conspiring," a voice broke in gaily. "Really, my dear Vera, this is something extraordinary in such a proper little person as yourself. I come to bring a message to your father, and what do I find? The hall door open, the servants apparently gone to bed, Monsieur out, and our dear little Vera engaged in a deep flirtation with my friend Paul Rosslyn."
Rosslyn smiled uneasily. It was quite clear that the unexpected advent of lady Loxton had put an end to further confidences. The pretty fair-haired chatterbox dropped into a chair and proceeded to light a cigarette. Rosslyn turned towards the door.
"Appearances are often deceptive," he said. "I came with a message, too, but I stayed rather longer than I intended. Really, Lady Loxton. I am obliged for the interruption. Ladies, permit me to wish you both good-night."
He saw Vera wince and quiver, but he was himself again now. He turned away without another word, and left.
IV - VEILED EYES
The giddy little butterfly known as Lady Loxton occupied a large and luxurious flat which took up practically the top floor of a block of buildings known as Medhurst Gardens. She was young and vivacious, always lively and agreeable, and enviously known as one of the best dressed women in London. She was deliciously pretty in a Dresden china way, and apparently lived entirely for pleasure. If she was the possessor of anything in the way of intelligence she disguised it most effectively, and her ingenuousness was a constant source of pleasure and amusement to her quicker-witted friends.
And yet in spite of her innocence of the world, she had done very well for herself. The gossips who knew were prepared to prove that she had been the only child of a shady Irish officer, whose service had been dispensed with, and that in her earlier days she had been on the Parisian stage, and that she had played in Vaudiville all over the Continent. Some considerable time before she had married Lord Loxton, regarded by competent critics as the greatest blackguard in the peerage, and at his death had found herself amply provided for. People were surprised to find that Lord Loxton had left so much money, for he had been looked on as permanently in the ranks of the impecunious, but then his pretty wife had done much for him, and had found him one or two powerful friends on the Continent. It was generally understood that Loxton had done well over his speculations in foreign shares, not that it mattered much any way, for Society was prepared to take Lady Loxton as she stood, and her invitations were eagerly sought for.
She made her way upstairs presently to her own flat, and let herself in with a latchkey. The servants had all retired for the night to their own quarters, which were at the end of a long corridor, and cut off from the rest of the flat by a pair of heavy baize doors. The wire of a burglar alarm ran along the wainscot, and this Lady Loxton carefully connected before entering the dining-room.
The luxurious apartment, with its old oak panelling and priceless pictures, was brilliantly flooded with light. Before the clear log fire a man sat on an arm chair smoking a cigarette. He was very tall and very thin, with a lean, long face, and head covered with coarse black hair. This was no less a person than Professor Garzia, one of the greatest authorities in Europe on music, and a Spaniard of old descent. He shrugged his shoulders as Lady Loxton entered.
"My child, you have been a long time," he said.
"But not time wasted, Pedro," Lady Loxton laughed. "I did not find Leroux at home, but behold there was little Vera in the midst of a passionate love scene with our friend Paul Rosslyn. Of course, I pretended to see nothing, but there is something in the wind all the same. But never mind those children. Have you heard from Von Kemp and our friend Aldeborough?"
"Ah, von Kemp and the others, they are in gaol," Garzia said, with a shrug of his shoulders. "The little game with the shaded lamps was spotted and the house raided just after dusk this evening. It is by great good luck that I got away without being seen. I had managed to hide the car, or at this moment I should not be enjoying the pleasure of your charming society."
Lady Loxton hissed something between her little white teeth. Her expression had entirely changed now, her big innocent eyes twinkled with malice and cunning. The alert vigour of her face and the outward thrust of her chin would have astonished her Society friends had they seen her at that moment. For here was no frivolous butterfly, but a hard, scheming woman of the world.
"What infernal luck!" she cried. "And I thought that we had planned the whole thing so carefully. There must have been some bad blundering somewhere, Pedro. And fancy this coming at a time when we need money from Berlin so badly. I was promised 200,000 marks if I brought off that little coup and got those gunboats mixed up with the mines that von Kemp made, and which have been lying perdu at Aldeborough for the last four years. And I am reduced to my last £5 note. We shan't get another penny through Rotterdam until we have pulled something off. Look here."
The speaker took up a copy of a leading newspaper, and indicated an advertisement appealing for subscriptions towards a children's convalescent home, of which Lady Loxton appeared to be the president. The appeal was for children in Germany and Belgium as well as England—an appeal for the little ones suffering from the war, and printed in three languages. Lady Loxton smiled as she looked at it.
"What fools these English authorities are," she said. "And yet I flatter myself that this is an excellent scheme for throwing dust in their eyes. This advertisement is published in London and Berlin every day. And each day it is slightly altered. By picking out certain letters I can read what our friends in Berlin say, and vice versa. To-day's message says that the Secret Service Department at Potsdam is getting very dissatisfied with us, and that unless we do something striking, the money will be cut off. Now can't you think of something? Something dazzling!"
Garzia frowned moodily. With his intimate knowledge of the coding of the advertisement he was reading it eagerly between the lines. He looked up presently, his eyes gleaming like coals.
"This is a great scheme of your's Marie," he exclaimed. "Ah, who would guess that the frivolous Lady Loxton was the cleverest spy ever trained in Prussia. You are great my child, the greatest of them all. And yet they are so full of ingratitude. But that was not what I was going to say. See, there is another message here. Will you take down the letters as I pick them out."
Lady Loxton took a sheet of paper, and for the next quarter of an hour jotted down a series of letters in what appeared to be a meaningless jumble on a sheet of paper. Her eyes sparkled, and her breath came a little faster as she divided up the words.
"Listen to this," she cried. "Berlin has got wind of a new aeroplane invented by our young friend Paul Rosslyn. It is a folding plane, with something entirely new in the way of a motor, and the whole thing can be packed in a big portmanteau. Moreover, it is absolutely noiseless. My word, what an instrument for bomb dropping! Talk about the terror by night! Now this is in your line, Pedro. You must get hold of the drawings of that plane and the designs of the engine. What do you think?"
Garzia smiled as he took a fresh cigarette.
"I dare say," he muttered. "But don't you think it would be quite as easy to get hold of the aeroplane itself?"
V - ON THE ROOF
For a long time the two conspirators sat there smoking their cigarettes in silence. There was no patriotism in the mind of either though they were both German born. They were just spies, brilliant and audacious mercenaries, prepared to sell the seeds of their dirty work to the highest bidder. The mere fact that the German Government was prepared to pay a higher price than any other Government was the one thing that kept them straight. No other great Power in Europe besides Germany had any incentive to squander millions of money to purchase strategic secrets, and well those spies knew it. They were trusted agents of Prussia, and had known years ago that 'The Day' was inevitable. They knew too, that the thunderbolt would be launched at harvest time in 1914, and hitherto their task had been easy. They chuckled over the deluded Peace Party in Great Britain, and smiled at the country apparently dead to all sense of danger. Because of this Lady Loxton and her confederate, moving freely as they did in official circles, had no difficulty in supplying Berlin with priceless information, which was lavishly paid for.
For years they had lived on the fat of the land, but the sudden outbreak of hostilities froze the sources of supply, and the confederates were hard up for the opportunities of making a living.
Probably the authorities of Berlin had traded upon the fact. It had become a case of no cure no pay, and the failure of the ingenious Aldeborough scheme had found Lady Loxton and Garzia at the end of their resources. The mere thought of Rosslyn's aeroplane set their mouths watering. If they could get hold of the plans and specifications, to say nothing of the aeroplane itself, then they would be in clover for many a long day to come.
"We must think this out, Marie," Garzia muttered. "This prize is a rich one, and others will be put on the scent unless we move quickly. Meanwhile don't forget that I did not come here to-night merely to talk. There is work to do before we sleep, and it is getting late. Come, are you ready?"
The clocks in the sleeping city were striking the hour of two as Lady Loxton and her companion made their way through a trapdoor on to the roof of the flat. They were both shrouded from head to foot in black so that they could crouch behind a mass of chimneys without fear of being detected by the many searchlights playing across the chill, autumn sky. Here, too was an iron standard supporting scores of telephone wires, and from one of these a gleaming strand of copper dangled. To the end of this filament Garzia attached a telephone receiver. A strand of wire was in contact now with an official line connected with an intelligence department, and he was in position to hear everything that passed one way.
The little scheme had its drawback, but many a priceless bit of information had been tapped in that way in the dead of the night. It was Lady Loxton's business to act as amanuensis to Garzia and jot down in shorthand in a notebook such points as were worthy of record.
They crouched there for a long time, quite an hour or more, and the notebook was still a dreary blank.
Then Garzia started violently, and Lady Loxton stiffened.
"Here is something at last," Garzia murmured. "Have you got that notebook ready?"
Lady Loxton muttered that she had. In the excitement of the moment her German accent clearly betrayed her nationality. But there was no time now to be wasted in idle chatter, besides, such a thing was highly dangerous work before daylight.
Garzia did not say any more. He held the receiver to his left ear and with his right hand ticked off a sort of abbreviated Morse code on the leads of the flat. The woman by his side translated the sentences quickly in her notebook. At the end of half an hour Garzia dropped his receiver, and turned to his companion with an evil grin of triumph on his face.
"That is about all," he said. "Any way, we have netted a fine lot of fish to-night, and there is a real beauty amongst them. Now let us go back to the dining-room, and you shall read it all to refresh your memory. Then we will get busy."
The pair crept through the trap door and regained the dining-room without anybody apparently being any the wiser. The burglar-alarm had not been disturbed, as the state of the indicator proved, and none of the servants could have left their room without giving the signal.
So far everything had gone off well, and nothing remained for the present but to read the stolen message.
"I recognised the voice," Garzia exclaimed. "I need not tell you that it came from the Admiralty, and the speaker was calling up Stuart Hallett, who I need not tell you is our young friend Paul Rosslyn's chief. They were talking about that precious aeroplane. But I daresay you have gathered that."
Lady Loxton's eyes gleamed with joy.
"I did not," she said. "I was too busy taking down your information. Perhaps I had better read it."
She rattled it off glibly enough. Somebody in authority at the Admiralty had rung up Stuart Hallett at that late hour in the morning—for it was three o'clock—and the questioner was evidently anxious to get in contact with Rosslyn without delay. There was immediate and important work for him to do, but what it was had not been mentioned over the telephone. This was somewhat disappointing to the conspirators, and they would have given a great deal for further particulars, though Garzia had gathered that Rosslyn's task would have something to do with the new aeroplane.
This was something disturbing in a way, for it certainly meant more trouble for the spies. And there was something else that troubled them, because Garzia could make out from the one sided conversation that Hallett was uneasy in his mind inasmuch as Rosslyn had gone off on a dangerous mission, and had not yet returned, though in the ordinary course of things he should have been back in his rooms long ago. But against this they had the priceless information of the spot where the aeroplane was concealed and the combination letters with the lock on the door of the shed. The Admiralty official had repeated this twice by way of verifying his notes, and Garzia smiled grimly over this priceless bit of information.
"Now I wonder if anything has happened to Rosslyn?" he muttered. "I should not be surprised if he had gone off doing a bit of spy hunting on his own account. We are not the only people in London who know something about the work he is doing. What a glorious bit of luck this has been! Now we can safely rely upon the Admiralty man doing nothing before to-morrow. He will naturally wait for Rosslyn to turn up after the cool way officials do lag, and the moment to us will be distinctly precious."
Lady Loxton carefully tore her notes into fragments, and dropped them into the heart of the burning fire. She never left anything, however small, to chance, and in the matter of the letter lock combination she had a devoted faith in her own marvellous memory.
"I see you have something in your mind," she said eagerly. "I should like to know what you propose to do?"
"Walk off with the aeroplane," Garzia said, coolly. "Start out now and fetch it. There is nobody in London who knows the roads within a twenty-mile radius better than you do. Besides, you have not had an adventure for so long that your nerves must be getting flabby."
Lady Loxton laughed, and the gleam of battle shone in her eyes. For here was an adventure after her own heart. She was sick of inaction and the comparative failures of the past few weeks. She stood up live and graceful, a mass of pluck and courage to her finger tips. She would have hesitated at nothing, and if the worst came to the worst, she was quite ready and willing to use a revolver.
"It would be grand," she cried. "Let us start at once. But there are certain precautions, of course—"
Garzia made light of the suggestion.
"You shall see what you shall see," he said. "Now go and get ready, and I will fetch the car round."
VI - A CHECK ALL ROUND
Like a cat, and as noiselessly, Garzia crept from the flat and made his way down the flights of stairs. He did not ring for the lift, for he counted on the night watchman being asleep in his box, and considerately had no desire to disturb him. He smiled pleasantly to find the forecast correct, and he slid off in the darkness without a soul being any the wiser. Even though the streets were empty, Garzia took no risk, and he used every patch of shadow as if it had been cover on a battlefield. He came at length to the garage where he kept his car, a motor which he had excellent reasons for looking after himself. It was supposed to be a hobby of his but at any rate it avoided a curious chauffeur and enabled Garzia to get about in all hours of the day and night without having to make a lot of more or less plausible explanations.
He closed the tightly fitting door and switched on the light. Then he proceeded rapidly to don a full chauffeur's uniform and a cap that hid his dark hair. The addition of a pair of goggles changed him beyond all recognition.
He chuckled as he regarded himself in the looking-glass; then he took up a spray of brilliant red paint, and in a few moments had transformed his pale car into a crimson one. All this would wash off quite easily presently, and when the number-plate had been changed and fresh lamps added he felt ready to defy the keenest eye. Then he boldly started the car, and slid along noiselessly till Medhurst Gardens was reached. There was no occasion to give Marie Loxton the signal, for she was already waiting in the doorway for the arrival of the car. She had made no attempt to disguise herself, for there was no occasion. If anybody met them on the road she would merely be taken for a lady out on urgent business, who was being driven by her own chauffeur. They slid away almost noiselessly through the sleeping city, Lady Loxton from time to time indicating the direction by a wave of her arm. Their destination was not more than twenty miles, and this should be accomplished by four o'clock, when it would still be pitch dark. The rest was no great matter. It would not be a difficult thing to gain access to the hangar in which the aeroplane was lying, and, with any luck the prize would be safely housed in Garzia's garage before dawn.
So they hurried along the silent roads, encountering nobody besides an occasional country policeman. The night was dark and black as the throat of a wolf, but Garzia slung along easily for he was an accomplished driver. Lady Loxton laid her hand upon his arm presently, and the car stopped at the entrance to a narrow lane.
"You had better back her in here," the woman whispered. "We are very near to our destination. I know that Rosslyn's workshops are in a field at the bottom of the lane, and the hangar can't be very far off. Shut down the engine and follow me."
It was not easy work fumbling along the lane in the pitch darkness, but the journey was accomplished at length, and a white gate loomed like a ghost a little way ahead. Beyond was a range of buildings dark against the skyline, and towards these the two adventurers made their way. It all seemed to be plain sailing now till something snapped under Garzia's foot, then a gruff voice challenged, and the click of a trigger sounded ominously near. It was a moment of something more than danger, and indeed it spelt exposure and disgrace. If the man with the revolver held them up long enough for assistance to arrive, then their career would be at an end. Even the ready-witted Garzia was at a loss for the moment.
But not so the woman by his side. She grasped him tensely by the arm and hissed in his ear.
"Drop," she said, "on your hands and knees at once and get behind the fellow. He is about five yards straight in front of me, and I saw his outline for a second against a door. Get behind him, and kill him when the time comes. Leave him to me."
Garzia needed no second bidding. He dropped like a shot rabbit on the wet grass, and proceeded to stalk his prey. He heard Marie Loxton utter a cry of joy and relief, or, at any rate, so it seemed to the sentinel standing there. It was quite clear that the guardian was unaware of the fact that there were two trespassers, and under the fond illusion that he had only a woman to deal with.
"Oh I am so glad I have found somebody," said Marie Loxton in tones of relief. "I have never been so frightened in my life. I was on the way to see a friend of mine that was taken suddenly ill, and I was stupid enough to think that I could drive myself. I managed to steer my car into a ditch, and if you will be so kind—"
There was no occasion to say any more, for the man standing there gave a gasp as he dropped senseless from a murderous blow on the back of the head. Garzia bent over him coolly.
"He won't trouble anybody for an hour or two," he said. "That was very smart of you, Marie. Now come along, for there is not a moment to be lost. There is the hangar, and here is my pocket-lamp. Well, so much for the lock. Now shut the door while I find the switch and turn on the light. Here we are, and—"
The chuckling speech broke off suddenly, and a yell of rage came from Garzia's lips For all this toil and all these risks were wasted. The hanger was empty.
"Now what does all this mean?" Garzia hissed. "There isn't so much here as a box of matches. And from what I heard over the telephone to-night, the aeroplane must have been here an hour or two ago. I'd give five years of my life to know where Rosslyn is just now. He is a lucky beggar, anyhow."
Had Garzia only known! Hours before Rosslyn had retraced his steps in the direction Cannon-street with the full intention of knowing the worst. The cool air of the night chilled the fever in his blood, and he saw his duty clearly before him. He resolutely put Vera out of his mind, he would forget her altogether. He had only one object in view and that was to discover the hidden mystery in a busy city street. He went cautiously up the stairs presently. He was all ready, nor did he anticipate any kind of trouble. He would be able to find the switch and turn on the light.
But all that was done for him in the twinkling of an eye. He had a fleeting vision of Leroux and a big burley man whom the former addressed as Ludwig. Then he was carried to the floor, and a pair of handcuffs snapped upon his wrists.
VII - THE DEAD OF NIGHT
It was futile to struggle, vain to regret. It was the old story over again, the story of Samson and Delilah in another form. Rosslyn cursed himself as he remembered the many little things he had told Vera Leroux from time to time, especially the information he had given her as to his wonderful new aeroplane. He was in the hands of unscrupulous Germans, who would not hesitate to destroy him if it suited their purpose. They would probably try and strike a bargain with him, and he waited with admirable patience to hear it.
"Now listen to me," Leroux said. "You have been trapped. There is no blame attached to you—a far wiser mind than yours would have failed to see the bait. And you have precipitated matters yourself. I had no idea that you were on the track till to-night, or I should have toasted my cheese in another fashion. Now it is necessary to approach you in a different way. Ah, things are not so bad as they seem. If you will give me your word of honour to say nothing of this discovery of yours you are free to depart. If you are willing to trust me and my friend here for seven days—"
Rosslyn laughed bitterly.
"Ah, precisely," Leroux smiled. "If I were in your place I should probably take the same view. It is too late to tell you the truth, besides you would not have believed me if I did. We want you, and more especially that wonderful biplane of yours—the marvellous machine that takes up no more room than a big sea chest, the aerial bird that rises from the ground like a swallow. Also the engine that makes no more noise than the drone of a bee. And we get our own way thus."
