Okewood of the Secret Service Part 44

Then the door opened and, with a great tinkling and rustling, a stoutish, brisk-looking woman sailed in. The tinkling proceeded from the large amount of cheap jewelry with which she was adorned; the rustling from a black and shiny glace silk dress.

With every movement she made the large drops she wore in her ears c.h.i.n.ked and were answered by a melodious chime from the charm bangles she had on her wrists.

She measured Desmond in a short glance and his appearance seemed to please her for she smiled as she said in rather a mincing voice:

"My (she p.r.o.nounced it 'may') maid said you wished to see the rooms!"

Desmond intimated that such was his desire.

"Pray be seated," said the little woman: "You will understand, I'm sure, that ay am not in the habit of taking in paying guests, but may husband being at the front, ay have a bedroom and this sitting-room free and ay thought..."

She stopped and looked sharply at Desmond.

"You are an officer, I think" she asked.

Desmond bowed.

"May husband is also an officer," replied the woman, "Captain Viljohn-Smythe; you may have met him. No? Of course, had you not been of commissioned rank, ay should not..."

She trailed off vaguely.

Desmond inquired her terms and surprised her somewhat by accepting them on the spot.

"But you have not seen the bedroom!" protested Mrs.

Viljohn-Smythe.

"I will take it on trust," Desmond replied, "and here," he added, pulling out his note-case, "is a week's rent in advance. I'll go along now and fetch my things. By the way," he went on, "I know some people here at Campden Hill but very foolishly, I've mislaid the address. Malplaquet... Mrs. Malplaquet. Do you happen to know her house?"

"Ay know most of the naice people living round about here,"

replied the lady, "but for the moment, ay cannot recollect... was it one of the larger houses on the hill, do you know?"

"I'm afraid I don't know," said Desmond. "You see, I've lost the address!"

"Quayte!" returned Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. "Ay can't say ay know the name!" she added.

However, she consented to consult the handmaiden, who answered to the name of Gladays, as to Mrs. Malplaquet's address, but she was as ignorant as her mistress.

Promising to return in the course of the evening with his things and having received exact instructions as to the shortest way to Holland Park Avenue, Desmond took his leave. He felt that he had embarked on a wild goose chase; for, even if the fugitives had made their way to Mrs. Malplaquet's (which was more than doubtful) he imagined they would take care to lie very low so that his chances of coming across any of them were of the most meager.

Following the directions he had received, he made his way easily back to the main road. He halted under a street-lamp to catch the eye of any pa.s.sing taxi which might happen to be disengaged. A dirty faced man in a greasy old suit and a spotted handkerchief knotted about his throat came slouching along the pavement, keeping close to the wall. On catching sight of Desmond's face by the light of the lamp, he stopped irresolutely and then advanced slowly towards him.

"Excuse me, sir!" he said falteringly.

Desmond looked round at the sound of the man's voice and seeing a typical street loafer, asked the fellow to get him a taxi.

"It is Captain Okewood," said the loafer, "you don't remember me, sir?"

Desmond looked at the dirty, rather haggard face with its unshaven chin and shook his head.

"I don't think I do," he answered, "though you seem to know my name!"

The vagrant fumbled in his pocket for a minute and extracting a sc.r.a.p of paper, unfolded it and held it out to Desmond.

"That's me, sir!" he said, "and, oh, sir! if you would kindly help me with a word of good advice, just for old times' sake, I'd be very grateful!"

Desmond took the sc.r.a.p of paper which the man tendered and held it so as to catch the rays of the lamp. It was a fragment torn from a newspaper. He had hardly set eyes on the cutting than he stretched out his hand to the vagrant.

"Why, Gunner Barling," he cried, "I didn't know you! How on earth do you come to be in this state?"

The man looked shamefacedly down on the ground.

"I'm a deserter, sir!" he said in a low voice.

"Are you, by George?" replied Desmond, "and now I come to think of it, so am I!"

CHAPTER XXV. TO MRS. MALPLAQUET'S

Clasping Barbara's wrist in a bony grip, Mrs. Malplaquet sat at the girl's side in the back seat of the limousine whilst Bellward placed himself on the seat opposite. The car was powerfully engined; and, once the cart track up to the inn was pa.s.sed and the main road reached, Strangwise opened her out.

By the track leading to the inn the high road made a right angle turn to the right. This turn they took, leaving the Mill House away in the distance to the left of them, and, after skirting the fen for some way and threading a maze of side roads, presently debouched on a straight, broad road.

Dazed and shaken by her experiences, Barbara lost all count of time, but after running for some time through the open country in the gray light of dawn, they reached the edge of those long tentacles of bricks and mortar which London thrusts out from her on every side. The outer fringes of the metropolis were still sleeping as the great car roared by. The snug "High Streets,"

the red brick "Parades" and "Broadways," with their lines of houses with blinds drawn, seemed to have their eyes shut, so blank, so somnolent was their aspect.

With their lamps alight, the first trams were gliding out to begin the new day, as the big car swiftly traversed the eastern suburbs of London. To Barbara, who had had her home at Seven Kings, there was something familiar about the streets as they flickered by; but her powers of observation were dulled, so great was the sense of helplessness that weighed her down.

High-booted scavengers with curious snake-like lengths of hose on little trolleys were sluicing the asphalt as the limousine snorted past the Mansion House into Poultney and Cheapside. The light was growing clearer now; the tube stations were open and from time to time a motor-bus whizzed by.

Barbara stirred restlessly and Mrs. Malplaquet's grip on her wrist tightened.

"Where are you taking me?" the girl said.

Mrs. Malplaquet spoke a single word.

"Bellward!" she said in a gentle voice; but it was a voice of command.

Bellward leaned forward.

"Look at me, Miss Mackwayte!" he said.

There was a curious insistence in his voice that made Barbara obey. She struggled for a moment against the impulse to do his bidding; for some agency within her told her to resist the summons. But an irresistible force seemed to draw her eyes to his. Bellward did not move. He simply leaned forward a little, his hands on his knees, and looked at her. Barbara could not see his eyes, for the light in the car was still dim, but inch by inch they captured hers.

She looked at the black outline of his head and instantly was conscious of a wave of magnetic power that transmitted itself from his will to hers. She would have cried out, have struggled, have sought to break away; but that invisible dance held her as in a vice. A little gasp broke from her lips; but that was all.

"So!" said Bellward with the little sigh of a man who has just accomplished some bodily effort, "so! you will keep quiet now and do as I tell you. You understand?"

No reply came from the girl. She had thrust her head forward and was gazing fixedly at the man. Bellward leaned towards the girl until his stubbly hair actually touched her soft brown curls. He was gazing intently at her eyes.