“You are going to England!”
“That is what I propose,” he assented. “I am sailing on the City of Boston to-morrow afternoon.”
“But the risk!” she faltered. “I thought that you dared not set foot in England.”
“There is risk,” he admitted. “It is not easy to amuse oneself anywhere without it. I have been offered a hundred thousand pounds to superintend the conveyance of certain documents and a certain letter to Berlin. The adventure appeals to me, and I have undertaken it. Until I found this man following me this afternoon, I really believed that we had put every one off the track. I know for a fact that most of the American officials believe that the papers for which they have searched so long and anxiously are in that trunk with the broken seals which they found at Halifax.”
“What about the Englishman, Crawshay, and Sam Hobson?” the girl asked.
“They are not quite so credulous,” he replied, “but at the present moment they are in Chicago, and if we get off at four o’clock punctually to-morrow afternoon, I scarcely think I shall be troubled with their presence on the City of Boston.” “I have been reading about the trunk,” the girl said. “Is it really a fake?”
“Entirely,” he assured her. “There is not a single document in it which concerns either us or our friends. Everything that is of vital importance will be on the City of Boston to-morrow and under my charge.”
She looked at him wonderingly.
“But, Mr. Thew,” she exclaimed, “you are clever, I know — even wonderful — but what possible chance have you of getting those things through — on an American steamer, too!”
“I have to take my risks, of course,” he admitted coolly, “but the game is worth it. I can’t live without excitement, as you know, and it’s getting harder and harder to find on this side of the ocean. Besides, there is the money. I can think of several uses for a hundred thousand pounds.”
She caught his wrist suddenly and leaned across the table.
“Can I come with you?” she asked breathlessly.
He shook his head.
“I shouldn’t advise a sea voyage just now, Nora,” he said. “It isn’t exactly a picnic, nowadays. Besides, if you come on the City of Boston there will be more than one danger to be faced.”
“Danger!” she exclaimed contemptuously. “Have I ever shown myself afraid? Have we any of us — my brother or father or I — hesitated to run any possible risk when it was worth while? This house has been yours, and we in it, to do what you will with. It isn’t a matter of danger — you know that. I come or go as you bid me.” He met the fierce enquiry of her eyes without flinching. Only his tone was a little kinder as he answered her.
“I think, Nora,” he said, “that you had better stay.”
There was a timid but persistent knocking at the door, and, in response to Nora’s invitation, a fat and bloated man entered the room hurriedly. He sank into a chair and mopped the perspiration from his forehead. Jocelyn Thew watched him with an air of contemptuous amusement.
“You seem distressed, Rentoul,” he remarked. “Has anything gone wrong?”
“But it is terrible, this!” the newcomer declared. “Anything gone wrong, indeed! Listen. The police have made themselves free of my house. My beautiful wireless — it was only a hobby — it has gone! They open my letters. They will ruin me. Never did I think that this would arrive! There has been some terrible bungling!”
“And you,” Jocelyn Thew retorted, “seem to have been the arch bungler.”
“I? But what have I done?” Rentoul demanded, wringing his hands. “I have always obeyed orders. Even a hint has been enough. I have spent a great deal of money — much more than I could afford. What have I done wrong?”
“You have talked too much, for one thing,” was the cold reply, “but we haven’t time for recriminations now. How did you get here?”
“I came in my car. You will perhaps say that it was not wise, but I could not have stood the subway. My nerves are all rotten.” Jocelyn Thew’s tone and gesture were smoothly disdainful.
“You are quite right,” he agreed. “You have lost what you call your nerve. You had better send for the newspaper men, give them plenty of champagne, and explain what a loyal American citizen you are. Have you burnt everything?”
“Every scrap of paper in the house which concerns a certain matter is burnt,” Rentoul declared.
“It would be!”
“But I am in the right,” the agitated man protested vigorously. “For five years we have worked and with good result. It is finished with us now for the present. There is no one who would dare to continue. Five long years, mind you, Mr. Jocelyn Thew. That is worth something, eh?”
“Whatever it may be worth,” was the somewhat grim reply, “will be decided within the next fortnight. That doesn’t concern you, though.”
“You are not staying over here now that the war has come?”
“Not I! But listen. There is no need for you to know where I am going, and I am not going to tell you. There is no need for you to remember that you ever knew me in your life. There is no need for you to remember any of the work in which you have been engaged. Your propaganda has developed a few strong men in this country and discovered a good deal of pulp. You are part of the pulp. There is only one other thing. If you should be heard of, Rentoul, shall we say telephoning, or calling upon the police here, offering to sell — No, by God, you don’t!” The man’s furtive tug at his hip pocket was almost pathetic in its futility. Jocelyn Thew had him by the throat, holding him with one hand well away from him, a quivering mass of discoloured, terrified flesh.
“Now you know,” he continued coolly, “why I sent for you, Rentoul. Now you know why I rather preferred to see you here to coming to your Fifth Avenue mansion. I don’t like traps — I don’t like traitors.”
“I give you my word,” the breathless man began, “my word of honour—”
“Neither would interest me,” the other interrupted grimly. “You are to be trusted just as far as you can be seen, just as far as your own safety and welfare depend upon your fidelity. You needn’t be so terrified,” he went on as, leaning over, he took the revolver from Rentoul’s pocket, drew out the cartridges and threw it upon the table. “You’ve earned any ugly thing that might be coming to you, but I should think it very probable that you will be able to go on over-feeding your filthy carcass for a few more years. First of all, though, perhaps you had better tell me exactly why you have an appointment with Mr. Harrison, from Police Headquarters, at eleven o’clock to-morrow morning?”
Rentoul was white to the lips.
“I wanted to explain about the wireless,” he faltered.
“That sounds very probable,” was the contemptuous reply. “What else?”
“Nothing!”
Jocelyn Thew shrugged his shoulders. His victim cowered before him. For the first time the girl moved. She came a little nearer, and there was fury in her eyes as she looked down upon the terrified man.
“We could keep him here,” she whispered. “Ned Grimes and some of the others will be in soon. There are plenty of ways of getting rid of him for a time.”
“It wouldn’t be worth while,” Thew said simply. “One doesn’t commit crimes for such carrion.”
Rentoul had struggled into a sitting posture. He was dabbing feebly at his forehead with an overperfumed handkerchief.
“I wanted to make peace at Headquarters,” he whined. “I want to be left alone. I should not have told them anything.”
“That may or may not be,” Jocelyn Thew replied. “All that I am fairly sure of is that you will keep your mouth shut now. You know,” he went on, his voice growing a shade more menacing, “that I never threaten where I do not perform. I may not be over here myself, but there will be a few men left in New York, and one word from your lips — even a hint — and your life will pay the forfeit within twenty-four hours. You will be watched for a time — you and a few others of your kidney — watched until the time has gone by when anything you could say or do would be of account.”