Okewood of the Secret Service Part 34

"Well," he said, after a pause, "you force my hand. I shall tell you of this mission of mine and I shall show you the evidence, because it seems essential in the interests of our organization.

But I a.s.sure you I shall not forget this want of confidence you have shown in me; and I shall see that you don't forget it, either!"

As he spoke, he glared fiercely at Desmond through his gla.s.ses.

"Let's hear about the precious mission," jeered Behrend, "let's see the evidence. The threats'll keep!"

Then Mortimer told them of how the Star of Poland came into Nur-el-Din's possession, and of the Crown Prince's embarra.s.sment when the German authorities claimed it for the regalia of the new Kingdom of Poland.

"The Crown Prince," he said, "summoned me to him in person and gave me the order to make my way to England immediately and recover the gem at all costs and by any means. Did I whine or snivel about being sent to my death as some of you were doing just now? No! That is not the way of the Prussian Guard..."

"The Prussian Guard?" cried No. 13 in an awed voice. "Are you also of the Prussian Guard, comrade?"

He had risen from his seat and there was something almost of majesty about his thin, ungainly figure as he drew himself to his full height.

"Ay, comrade, I was," replied Mortimer.

"Then," cried No. 13, "you are..."

"No names, comrade," warned Mortimer, "no names, I beg!"

"No names, no names!" repeated the other and relapsed into his seat in a reverie.

"How I got to England," Mortimer continued, "matters nothing; how I fulfilled my mission is neither here nor there. But I recovered the gem and the proof..."

He thrust a hand into the inner pocket of his coat and plucked out a white paper package sealed up with broad red seals.

Desmond held his breath. It was the white paper package, exactly as Barbara had described.

"Look at it well, Behrend," said Mortimer, holding it up for the young man to see, "it cost me a man's life to get that. If it had sent twenty men to their death, I should have had it just the same!"

Mrs. Malplaquet clapped her hands, her eyes s.h.i.+ning.

"Bravo, bravo!" she exclaimed, "that's the spirit! That's the way to talk, Mortimer!"

"Cut it out," snarled Behrend, "and let's see the goods!"

All had left their seats and were gathered in a group about Mortimer as he began to break the gleaming red wag seals. One by one he burst them, the white paper slipped off and disclosed... a box of cigarettes.

Mortimer stood gazing in stupefaction at the gaudy green and gold lettering of the box. Then, running his thumb-nail swiftly along the edge of the box, he broke the paper wrapping, the box burst open and a shower of cigarettes fell to the ground.

"So that's your Star of Poland, is it?" cried Behrend in a mocking voice.

"Wot 'ave yer done wiv' the sparklers, eh?" demanded Max, catching Mortimer roughly by the arm.

But Mortimer stood, aimlessly shaking the empty box in front of him, as though to convince himself that the gem was not there.

Behrend fell on his knees and raked the pile of cigarettes over and over with his fingers.

"Nothing there!" he shouted angrily, springing to his feet. "It's all bluff! He's bluffing to the end! See, he doesn't even attempt to find his famous jewel! He knows it isn't there!"

But Mortimer paid no heed. He was staring straight in front of him, a strangely woe-begone figure with his thatch of untidy hair and round goggle eyes. Then the cigarette box fell to the floor with a crash as Mortimer's hands dropped, with, a hopeless gesture, to his sides.

"Barbara Mackwayte!" he whispered in a low voice, not seeming to realize that he was speaking aloud, "so that's what she wanted with Nur-el-Din!"

Desmond was standing at Mortimer's elbow and caught the whisper.

As he heard Mortimer speak Barbara's name, he had a sudden premonition that his own unmasking was imminent, though he understood as little of the purport of the other's remark as of the pile of cigarettes lying on the carpet. As Mortimer turned to look at him, Desmond nerved himself to meet the latter's gaze.

But Mortimer's face wore the look of a desperate man. There was no recognition in his eyes.

Not so with Desmond. Perhaps the bitterness of his disappointment had made Mortimer careless, perhaps the way in which he had p.r.o.nounced Barbara's name struck a familiar chord in Desmond's memory. The unkempt hair brushed down across the forehead, the thick gla.s.ses, the heavy moustache still formed together an impenetrable mask which Desmond's eyes failed to pierce. But now he recalled the voice. As Mortimer looked at him, the truth dawned on Desmond and he knew that the man standing beside him was Maurice Strangwise, his comrade-in-arms in France.

At that very moment a loud crash rang through the room, a cold blast of damp air came rus.h.i.+ng in and the lamp on the table flared up wildly, flickered an instant and went out, leaving the room in darkness save for the glow of the fire.

A deep voice cried:

"May I ask what you are all doing in my house?"

The secret door of the bookshelves had swung back and there, framed in the gaping void, Desmond saw the dark figure of a man.

CHAPTER XIX. THE UNINVITED GUEST

There are moments in life when the need for prompt action is so urgent that thought, decision and action must be as one operation of the brain. In the general consternation following on the dramatic appearance of this uninvited guest, Desmond had a brief respite in which to think over his position.

Should he make a dash for it or stay where he was and await developments?

Without a second's hesitation; he decided on the latter course.

With the overpowering odds against him it was more than doubtful whether he could ever reach the library door. Besides, to go was to abandon absolutely all hope of capturing the gang; for his flight would warn the conspirators that the game was up. On the other hand, the new-comer might be an ally, perhaps an emissary of the Chief's. The strange behavior of the odd man had shown that something was afoot outside of which those in the library were unaware. Was the uninvited guest the deus ex machina who was to help him, Desmond, out of his present perilous fix?

Meanwhile the stranger had stepped into the room, drawing the secret door to behind him. Desmond heard his heavy step and the dull thud of the part.i.tion swinging into place. The sound seemed to break the spell that hung over the room.

Mortimer was the first to recover his presence of mind. Crying out to No. 13 to lock the door leading into the hall, he fumbled for a moment at the table. Desmond caught the noise of a match being scratched and the next moment the library was again bathed in the soft radiance of the lamp.

Picking up the light, Mortimer strode across to the stranger.

"What do you want here" he demanded fiercely, "and who the devil..."

He broke off without completing his sentence, drawing back in amazement. For the rays of the lamp fell upon the pale face of a stoutish, bearded man, veering towards middle age standing in front of Mortimer. And the face was the face of the stoutish, bearded man, veering towards middle age, who stood in the shadow a few paces behind Mortimer. Each man was a complete replica of the other, save that the face of the new arrival was thin and haggard with that yellowish tinge which comes from long confinement.

As Mortimer staggered back, the uninvited guest recoiled in his turn. He was staring fixedly across the room at his double who met his gaze firmly, erect, tense, silent. The others looked in sheer stupefaction from one to the other of the two Mr.

Bellwards. For nearly a minute the only sound in the room was the deep ticking of the clock, counting away the seconds separating him from eternity, Desmond thought.

It was Mrs. Malplaquet who broke the silence. Suddenly her nerves snapped under the strain, and she screamed aloud.

"A--ah!" she cried, "look! There are two of them! No, no, it can't be!"

And she sank half fainting on the sofa.

Behrend whipped out a pistol from his hip pocket and thrust it in Mortimer's face.