Okewood of the Secret Service Part 30

Puzzled though he was by the scene he had just witnessed, Desmond did not dare to tarry longer. The roof of the outhouse was only some ten feet from the ground, an easy drop. He let himself noiselessly down and landing on his feet without mishap, darted out of the yard gate. As he did so, he heard the inn door open and Strangwise's voice cry out:

"Who's that?"

But Desmond heeded not. He dashed out upon the fen. Before he had gone a dozen paces the fog had swallowed up inn and all. Out of the white pall behind him he heard confused shouts as he skirted swiftly round the house and reached the road.

Once he had gained the freedom of the highway; Desmond breathed again. The dense fog that enveloped him, the hard road beneath his feet, gave him a sense of security that he had missed as long as he was in the atmosphere of that lonely, sinister place. He struck out at a good pace for home, intent upon one thing, namely, to send an immediate summons for help to surround the d.y.k.e Inn and all within it. Nur-el-Din, it was clear, whether a spy or no (and Desmond believed her story), was the only person who could throw any light on the mysterious circ.u.mstances surrounding old Mackwayte's murder. Besides, her arrest would safeguard her against further machinations on the part of Mortimer, though Desmond suspected that the latter, now that he had secured the jewel, would leave the dancer in peace. As for Strangwise, it would be for him to explain as best he could his continued a.s.sociation with a woman for whose arrest a warrant had been issued.

Desmond let himself in with his key. The housekeeper had returned and was laying the dinner-table. In the library the curtains were drawn and a fire burned brightly in the grate. The room looked very snug and cosy by contrast with the raw weather outside.

Desmond shut and locked the door and then went to the telephone at the desk. "Ring up 700 Stanning"--he repeated his instructions to himself "and ask for Mr. Elias. a.s.sistance'll be with you within fifteen minutes afterwards."

By the clock on the mantelpiece it was a quarter to seven. If aid arrived promptly, with a car they could be at the d.y.k.e Inn by a quarter past seven.

The telephone gave no sign of life. Desmond impatiently jerked the receiver hook up and down. This time, at least, he would not fail, he told himself. Before he went to bed that night Nur-el-Din, her maid, Ra.s.s, and if needs be, Strangwise (who needed a lesson to teach him discretion), should be in custody.

Still no reply.

"Hullo! Hullo!" cried Desmond, depressing the hook repeatedly.

"Hullo, Exchange!"

But there was no answer. Then it struck Desmond that the line was dead: his ear detected none of that busy whirr which is heard in the telephone when one is waiting to get a number.

He spent five minutes in vain attempts to obtain a reply, then abandoned the endeavor in disgust.

"I shall have to take the motor-bike and go over to Stunning," he said to himself, "how I shall find my way there in this fog, the Lord only knows! And I don't know whom to apply to when I get there. The police-station, I suppose!"

He unlocked the door and rang for Martha.

"I have to go over to Stunning, Martha," he said, "I will try and be back for dinner at eight!"

He had no intention of accompanying the party to the d.y.k.e Inn. He must preserve his incognito until Mortimer, the main quarry, had been run down.

He filled his case from the box of cigarettes on the table and thrust a box of matches into his pocket to light his head-lamp.

Then, taking a cap from the hat-stand, he opened the front door.

Even as he did so a big open car slowed down throbbing outside the porch. A man sprang out and advanced into the light streaming from the front door into the eddying mist. It was Mortimer.

"Fortune," thought Desmond, "has broken her rule. She has given me a second chance!"

"Well met, Bellward!" cried Mortimer, blinking at the other through his thick gla.s.ses. "Tut, tut! What a night! You were never going out, I swear."

Already Desmond had decided in his mind the course of action he would pursue. For the moment he must let the party at the d.y.k.e Inn slide in favor of the bigger catch. He must slip away later and have another try at the telephone and if it were still out of order, he must endeavor to overpower Mortimer and then go for a.s.sistance himself. On a night like this it was useless to think of employing a half-blind old dolt like Martha to take a message.

As for the odd man, he lived at Wakefield, and went away at dusk every evening.

So Desmond muttered some plausible lie about wanting to have a look at the weather and cordially invited Mortimer in.

"You will stay for dinner" he said.

"Gladly," replied the other, sinking with aunt into the settee.

"And I should be glad if we might dine early."

Desmond raised his eyebrows.

"... Because," Mortimer resumed, "I have ventured to ask a few friends round here to... to have an evening at bridge. Doubtless, you have cards, eh?"

Desmond pointed to a card-table standing in the corner with several packs of cards and markers. Then he rang and told the housekeeper that they would dine as soon as possible.

"The coming fortnight," said Mortimer, tucking his napkin into his collar as they sat at the dinner table, "is pregnant with great events. No less than ten divisions are, I understand, to be transferred to the other side. I have waited to communicate with you until I had confirmation of this report. But now that the matter has been decided, it only remains for us to perfect our arrangements for communicating these plans to our friends beyond the North Sea. Therefore, I thought a friendly bridge evening at the hospitable home of our dear colleague Bellward would be in place."

He smiled affably and bent over his soup-plate.

"I shall be delighted to receive our friends," Desmond replied, "a gla.s.s of sherry?"

"Thank you," said Mortimer.

"I shall have to provide a few refreshments," said Desmond. "May I ask how many guests I may expect?"

Mortimer reckoned on his fingers.

"Let's see," he answered, "there's Max, that's one, and Madame Malplaquet, that's two. No. 13 and Behrend makes four and myself, five!"

"And Madame Nur-el-Din?" queried Desmond innocently, but inwardly quaking at his rashness.

Mortimer genially shook a finger at him.

"Sly dog!" he chuckled, "you're one too many for me in that quarter, I see! I know all about your tete-a-tete with our charming young friend this afternoon!"

Desmond felt the blood rush to his face. He thought of Nur-el-Din's words: "Mortimer sees and knows all." He picked up his sherry gla.s.s and drained it to cover his confusion.

"... It was hardly gallant of you to bolt so suddenly and leave the lady!" Mortimer added.

How much did this uncanny creature know?

Without waiting for him to reply, Mortimer went on.

"I suppose she told you a long story of my persecution, eh, Bellward? You needn't shake your head. I taxed her with it and she admitted as much."

"I had no idea that you were staying at the d.y.k.e Inn!" said Desmond at a venture.

"My friend," replied Mortimer, lowering his voice, "your fair charmer is showing a decided inclination to make a nuisance of herself. I have had to keep an eye on her. It's been a very serious inconvenience to my plans, I can a.s.sure you. But you haven't answered my question. What sent you away in such a hurry this afternoon? and in so romantic a fashion? By the window, was it not?"

Through sheer apprehension, Desmond was now keyed up to a kind of desperate audacity. The truth is sometimes a very effective weapon in the game of bluff, and Desmond determined to employ it.

"I saw someone I didn't want to meet," he replied.

"Ah!" said Mortimer, "who was that, I wonder? The d.y.k.e Inn could hardly be described as a frequented resort, I imagine!"

The entry of old Martha to change the plates prevented Desmond from replying. He used the brief respite to review the situation.

He would tell Mortimer the truth. They were man to man now and he cared nothing even if the other should discover the fraud that had been practised upon him. Come what might, Mortimer, dead or alive, should be delivered up to justice that night.