“One thing more, Herr Amelungen,” said he. “About the same time as the search begins here, another will take place in your private house. I expect the report of those entrusted with it at any moment.”
Amelungen breathed hard. He looked nervously at Heideck, as if trying to read his thoughts. Then, after a brief struggle with himself, he whispered—
“Send these men out, Herr major! I should like to speak to you privately.”
When Heideck had complied with his request, Amelungen continued, speaking hastily, and bringing out his words with difficulty: “In me you see a man who deserves compassion, a man who has been, entirely against his will and inclination, compromised. If anyone is guilty in this matter, it is my brother-in-law Van Spranekhuizen and a lady correspondent of my wife in Brussels. Occasionally I have acted as agent, when it was a matter of forwarding letters, or of handing over sums of money to the Countess—to the lady; but I have never personally taken any part in the matters in question.”
“That statement is not enough for me. I do not doubt the truth of what you say, but I must be informed of all the details before I can drop further proceedings against you. Who is the lady you speak of?”
“A former maid of honour to the late Queen.”
“Her name?”
“Countess Clementine Arselaarts.”
“How did you come to know her?”
“She is a friend of my wife, who made her acquaintance last year when staying in Brussels.”
“And your wife is English?”
“Yes; her maiden name was Irwin.”
At the sound of this name a flood of painful recollections rushed over Heideck’s mind.
“Irwin?” he repeated. “Has the lady by chance any relatives in the British army?”
“I had a brother-in-law, who was a captain in the Indian Lancers. But, according to the news that has reached us, he was killed at the battle of Lahore.”
The Major found it hard to control his excitement, but as if he had already allowed himself to be too long diverted from his duty, he hastily returned to the real subject of his examination.
“You said that you have handed over certain sums of money to Countess Arselaarts. By whose order? and on whose account?”
“On account of the English Government and on the order of an English banking house with which I have had business dealings for many years.”
“Were the sums large?”
“Latterly, on an average about 10,000 francs a month.”
“And how were they paid?”
“Sometimes I sent the amount in cash, often by cheque on Brussels banks.”
“Have you any evidence on the point—a receipt signed by the Countess?”
Amelungen hesitated.
“I strongly advise you to keep nothing back from me. So much is at stake for you and your relatives who are involved in this affair that it is of the utmost consequence that you should secure lenient treatment by a frank confession.”
“Well, then, I have some receipts.”
“Please let me see them.”
Amelungen pulled open a drawer in his writing-table, pressed a spring, and a secret compartment at the back flew open.
“There they are!” said he, handing a small bundle of sheets of paper to Heideck. But the Major’s keen eye had noticed, as he glanced rapidly at the compartment, that it contained some other papers, which he politely but firmly demanded to see.
“They are private letters of no importance,” objected Amelungen, “some of my wife’s correspondence, which she accidentally left in my office. I don’t know what they are about myself.”
“Be assured that harmless private correspondence will not be abused. But I must claim the absolute right to convince myself of the correctness of your assertions by examining them.”
The merchant could see that there was no chance of getting out of it, and, visibly excited, handed the little roll over to Heideck.
The Major took it, without examining the contents more closely at once.
“You definitely assure me, Herr Amelungen, that you have nothing else referring to this matter?”
“Nothing! I give you my word, Herr major.”
Heideck got up.
“I charge you not to attempt to leave the town or in any other way evade the German authorities. You will guarantee this not only as regards yourself, but also as regards your wife; and you will further promise me to break off at once all relations with the persons involved in this espionage affair, unless at our order, or in agreement with us.”
Eberhard Amelungen, whose powers of resistance seemed completely broken in this painful hour, nodded assent.
“I promise both, Herr major!”
Heideck, having left a criminal official with instructions to keep watch, repaired without delay to the office of Lieutenant-Colonel Nollenberg, head of the intelligence department for Antwerp. He informed him of the result of his conversation and examined the confiscated papers in his presence.
A large number were letters from the Countess Clementine Arselaarts to Frau Beatrix Amelungen, and their contents were harmless, with the exception of a few expressions advising watchfulness and despatch.
But in a special envelope, sealed several times, there was a sheet of paper, covered with close writing, which could not be read offhand, since the letters were apparently jumbled together quite arbitrarily and irregularly.
“A cipher!” said Heideck. “But we shall soon get to the bottom of it. You have some capable interpreters at your disposal, and it might be a good thing if they set to work at once.”
He continued his examination, and suddenly the blood rushed to his face, for in his hands he held a letter, the handwriting of which he recognised at the first glance as Edith’s. Its contents were as follows:—
“DEAR BEATRICE,—As you see, I am again in England. You know that I have returned a widow, and you can believe that my experiences have been terrible. Your brother met an honourable death at Lahore; with the utmost difficulty I myself succeeded in getting away from India under the protection of Attorney-General Kennedy and his family. I should have to fill a book if I were to tell you all the horrors of our journey. But this is not the proper time to complain of the melancholy lot of an individual. We are all strangers and pilgrims on earth, and must bear the cross that is laid upon us.
“The immediate reason of my writing to-day is that I want your opinion on a certain matter. When I arrived at my parents’ house, I heard that uncle Godfrey had died on the 16th of April. I do not know whether you have already heard of this, as regular communication with the Continent is interrupted. My uncle Godfrey has left a will, dividing his property equally between you as his niece and my deceased husband. His property was larger than my husband thought. After division, both you and my husband would have had a yearly income of 5,000 pounds. Now your brother has died without having disposed of his property. But my lawyer tells me that, as his sole heiress, I can claim his share of the inheritance. To arrange about this I have come here to Dover; for I found that I could only get the letter forwarded to Antwerp with the assistance of Admiral Hollway, who is charged with the protection of our coast. To my surprise the Admiral informed me that your name was known to him, and he willingly undertook to forward this letter to you. Now please consent to uncle Godfrey’s property being divided between you and me. I do not believe you will have any objection, but I consider it a duty to obtain your definite consent. I shall be glad to hear from you that you are well.
“P.S.—In India I made the acquaintance of a German officer who rendered me great service during the terrible times of the war and saved my life more than once. He travelled with the Kennedys and myself on the Caledonia to Naples. From there he went on to Berlin, while we continued our voyage on a man-of-war through the Straits of Gibraltar to Southampton. This officer is a Captain Heideck of the Prussian General Staff. I should be thankful to you if you would find out where he is at present. I am very anxious to know his address. For a time I am staying in Dover. Letters addressed to Mrs. Jones, 7, St. Paul’s Street, will reach me.”