The light shone vividly into the opened safe, and the secretaryof the embassy gazed with an absorbed interest at the rows of stuffedpigeon-holes with which it was furnished. Each pigeon-hole hadits label, and his eyes as he glanced along them read a long series ofsuch titles as “Fords,” “Harbour-defences,” “Aeroplanes,” “Ireland,”
“Egypt,” “Portsmouth forts,” “The Channel,” “Rosythe,” and a scoreof others. Each compartment was bristling with papers and plans.
“Colossal!” said the secretary. Putting down his cigar he softlyclapped his fat hands.
“And all in four years, Baron. Not such a bad show for the harddrinking,hard-riding country squire. But the gem of my collectionis coming and there is the setting all ready for it.” He pointed to aspace over which “Naval Signals” was printed.
“But you have a good dossier there already.”
“Out of date and waste paper. The Admiralty in some way gotthe alarm and every code has been changed. It was a blow, Baron—the worst setback in my whole campaign. But thanks to my checkbookand the good Altamont all will be well to-night.”
The Baron looked at his watch and gave a guttural exclamationof disappointment.
“Well, I really can wait no longer. You can imagine that thingsare moving at present in Carlton Terrace and that we have all tobe at our posts. I had hoped to be able to bring news of your greatcoup. Did Altamont name no hour?”
Von Bork pushed over a telegram.
Will come without fail to-night and bring new sparking plugs.
Altamont.
“Sparking plugs, eh?”
“You see he poses as a motor expert and I keep a full garage. Inour code everything likely to come up is named after some sparepart. If he talks of a radiator it is a battleship, of an oil pump acruiser, and so on. Sparking plugs are naval signals.”
“From Portsmouth at midday,” said the secretary, examining thesuperscription. “By the way, what do you give him?”
“Five hundred pounds for this particular job. Of course he has asalary as well.”
“The greedy rogue. They are useful, these traitors, but I grudgethem their blood money.”
“I grudge Altamont nothing. He is a wonderful worker. IfI pay him well, at least he delivers the goods, to use his ownphrase. Besides he is not a traitor. I assure you that our most pan-Germanic Junker is a sucking dove in his feelings towards Englandas compared with a real bitter Irish-American.”
“Oh, an Irish-American?”
“If you heard him talk you would not doubt it. SometimesI assure you I can hardly understand him. He seems to havedeclared war on the King’s English as well as on the English king.
Must you really go? He may be here any moment.”
“No. I’m sorry, but I have already overstayed my time. We shallexpect you early to-morrow, and when you get that signal bookthrough the little door on the Duke of York’s steps you can puta triumphant finis to your record in England. What! Tokay!” Heindicated a heavily sealed dust-covered bottle which stood withtwo high glasses upon a salver.
“May I offer you a glass before your journey?”
“No, thanks. But it looks like revelry.”
“Altamont has a nice taste in wines, and he took a fancy to myTokay. He is a touchy fellow and needs humouring in small things.
I have to study him, I assure you.” They had strolled out on to theterrace again, and along it to the further end where at a touch fromthe Baron’s chauffeur the great car shivered and chuckled. “Those arethe lights of Harwich, I suppose,” said the secretary, pulling on hisdust coat. “How still and peaceful it all seems. There may be otherlights within the week, and the English coast a less tranquil place!
The heavens, too, may not be quite so peaceful if all that the goodZepplin promises us comes true. By the way, who is that?”
Only one window showed a light behind them; in it there stooda lamp, and beside it, seated at a table, was a dear old ruddyfacedwoman in a country cap. She was bending over her knittingand stopping occasionally to stroke a large black cat upon a stoolbeside her.
“That is Martha, the only servant I have left.”
The secretary chuckled.
“She might almost personify Britannia,” said he, “with her completeself-absorption and general air of comfortable somnolence. Well, aurevoir, Von Bork!” With a final wave of his hand he sprang into thecar, and a moment later the two golden cones from the headlightsshot forward through the darkness. The secretary lay back in thecushions of the luxurious limousine, with his thoughts so full ofthe impending European tragedy that he hardly observed that ashis car swung round the village street it nearly passed over a littleFord coming in the opposite direction.
Von Bork walked slowly back to the study when the last gleamsof the motor lamps had faded into the distance. As he passedhe observed that his old housekeeper had put out her lamp andretired. It was a new experience to him, the silence and darknessof his widespread house, for his family and household had beena large one. It was a relief to him, however, to think that theywere all in safety and that, but for that one old woman who hadlingered in the kitchen, he had the whole place to himself. Therewas a good deal of tidying up to do inside his study and he sethimself to do it until his keen, handsome face was flushed with theheat of the burning papers. A leather valise stood beside his table,and into this he began to pack very neatly and systematically theprecious contents of his safe. He had hardly got started with thework, however, when his quick ears caught the sounds of a distantcar. Instantly he gave an exclamation of satisfaction, strapped upthe valise, shut the safe, locked it, and hurried out on to the terrace.
He was just in time to see the lights of a small car come to a halt atthe gate. A passenger sprang out of it and advanced swiftly towardshim, while the chauffeur, a heavily built, elderly man with a graymoustache, settled down like one who resigns himself to a long vigil.
“Well?” asked Von Bork eagerly, running forward to meet hisvisitor.
