Okewood of the Secret Service Part 19

"All right, Martha," said Desmond, "see that the spare room is ready for this lady, and don't go to bed just yet. I shall want you to take this lady to her room."

The old woman hobbled away, leaving the two alone. As soon as the door had closed behind her, Nur-el-Din exclaimed:

"You know me; hein!"

Desmond bowed in the most correct Continental manner.

"Who does not know the charming Nur-el-Din?" he replied.

"No!" Nur-el-Din commanded with flas.h.i.+ng eyes, "no, not that name! I am Madame Le Bon, you, understand, a Belgian refugee, from Termonde!"

Rather taken aback by her imperious manner, Desmond bowed again but said nothing.

"I received your letter," the dancer resumed, "but I did not answer it as I did not require your a.s.sistance. But now I wish your help. It is unfortunate that you were absent from home at the very time I counted upon your aid."

She flashed a glance at him as though awaiting an apology.

"I am extremely sorry," said Desmond, "if I had but known..."

Nur-el-Din nodded carelessly.

"I wish to pa.s.s the night here," she went on, "in fact, I may be here for several days. They are becoming inconvenient in London, you understand."

"But the theatre, your professional engagements?"

"Bah, I have left the theatre. I have had enough of these stupid English people... they know nothing of art!"

Desmond reflected a moment. Nur-el-Din's manner was most perplexing. What on earth could induce her to adopt this tone of condescension towards him? It nettled him. He resolved to try and find out on what it was based.

"I am only too happy to be of a.s.sistance to you," he said, "especially in view of the letter of introduction you sent me, but I must tell you plainly that what you ask is impossible."

"Impossible?" repeated Nur-el-Din, stamping her feet.

"Impossible? Do you know what you are saying?"

"Perfectly," replied Desmond negligently. "Obviously, you must stay here for the rest of the night since you cannot return to London until the trains start running, but to stay here indefinitely as you propose to do is out of the question. People would talk!"

"Then it is your business to see that they don't!"

"Your letter of introduction came from one whom I am always anxious to oblige," Desmond went on. "But the service he is authorized to claim from me does not ent.i.tle him to jeopardize my other activities."

He drew a breath. It was a long shot. Would it draw her?

It did. Nur-el-Din fumbled in her bag, produced a leather pocket-book and from it produced a slip of paper folded in two.

"Read that!" she cried, "and then you shall apologize!"

Desmond took the paper. It was a sheet torn from a book of German military field messages. "Meldedienst" (Message Service) was printed in German at the top and there were blanks to be filled in for the date, hour and place, and at the bottom a printed form of acknowledgment for the recipient to sign.

In a large ostentatious, upright German handwriting was written what follows:

"To All Whom it May Concern.

"The lady who is the bearer of this, whose description is set out overleaf, is ent.i.tled to the full respect and a.s.sistance of the German forces on land and sea and in the air, wherever it may be.

Her person and property are inviolate.

"Given At Our Headquarters at Metz "Friedrich Wilhelm "Kronprinz des "Deutschen Reiches."

Across the signature was the impress of a green stamp, lozenge-shaped, inscribed "Headquarters of the Fifth Army, General Staff, 21st September, 1914."

On the back of the slip was a detailed description of Nur-el-Din.

Desmond bowed and handed the paper back to its owner.

"Madame must accept my humble excuses," he murmured, hardly knowing what he was saying, so great was his surprise, "my house and services are at Madame's disposal!"

"The other letter was from Count Plettenbach, the Prince's A.D.C., whom I think you know!" added the dancer in a mollified voice as she replaced the slip of paper in its pocketbook and stowed it away in her hand-bag. Then, looking up archly at Desmond, she said:

"Am I so distasteful, then, to have in your house?"

She made a charming picture. Her heavy fur coat had fallen open, disclosing her full round throat, very brown against the V-shaped opening of her white silk blouse. Her mouth was a perfect cupid's bow, the upper lip slightly drawn up over her dazzlingly white teeth. Before Desmond could answer her question, if answer were needed, her mood had swiftly changed again. She put her hand out, a little brown hand, and laying it on his shoulder, looked up appealingly into his eyes.

"You will protect me," she said in a low voice, "I cannot bear this hunted life. From this side, from that, they, are closing in on me, and I am frightened, so very frightened. Promise you will keep me from harm!"

Desmond gazed down into her warm, expressive eyes helplessly.

What she asked was impossible, he knew, but he was a soldier, not a policeman, he told himself, and under his breath he cursed the Chief for landing him in such a predicament. To Nur-el-Din he said gently:

"Tell me what has happened to frighten you. Who is hunting you?

Is it the police?"

She withdrew her hand with a gesture of contempt.

"Bah!" she said bitterly. "I am not afraid of the police."

Then she sank into a reverie, her gaze fixed on the dying embers of the fire.

"All my life has been a struggle," she went on, after a moment, "first with hunger, then with men, then the police. I am used to a hard life. No, it is not the police!"

"Who is it, then" asked Desmond, completely nonplused.

Nur-el-Din let her eyes rest on his face for a moment.

"You have honest eyes," she said, "your eyes are not German...

pardon me, I would not insult your race... I mean they are different from the rest of you. One day, perhaps, those eyes of yours may persuade me to answer your question. But I don't know you well enough yet!"

She broke off abruptly, shaking her head.