VI.
THE VISITOR.
My feelings as I approached the parlour were anything but happy. Some voice seemed to warn me that I was in the presence of something sinister, that some unknown peril stalked at my elbow. This third party—this "she"—filled me with forebodings. If ever anybody had a presentiment, I had one, and all I can say now is that within thirty seconds of opening the parlour door, I had ceased to believe in presentiments, entirely and finally. The vision I beheld nearly took my breath away.
"Let me introduce you to my sister, Miss Burnett," said Tiel. "She is so devoted to her brother that she has insisted on coming to look after him for the few days he is forced to spend in this lonely manse."
He said this with a smile, and of course never intended me to believe a word of his statement, yet as he gave her no other name, and as that was the only account of her circulated in the neighbourhood, I shall simply refer to her in the meantime as Miss Burnett. It is the only name that I have to call her by to her face.
As to her appearance, I can only say that she is the most beautiful woman I have ever met in my life. The delicacy and distinction of her features, her dark eyebrows, her entrancing eye, and her thoughtful mouth, so firm and yet so sweet, her delicious figure and graceful carriage—heavens, I have never seen any girl to approach her! What is more, she has a face which I trust. I have had some experience of women, and I could feel at the first exchange of glances and of words that here was one of those rare women on whom a man could implicitly rely.
"Have you just landed upon these islands?" I inquired.
"Not to-day," she said; and indeed, when I came to think of it, she would not have had time to reach the house in that case.
"Did you have much difficulty?" I asked.
"The minister's sister is always admitted," said Tiel with his dry smile.
I asked presently if she had travelled far. She shrugged her shoulders, gave a delightful little laugh, and said—
"We get so used to travelling that I have forgotten what 'far' is!"
Meanwhile tea was brought in, and Miss Burnett sat down and poured it out with the graceful nonchalant air of a charming hostess in her own drawing-room, while Tiel talked of the weather and referred carelessly to the lastest news just like any gentleman who might have called casually upon her. I, on my part, tried as best I could to catch the same air, and we all talked away very pleasantly indeed. We spoke English, of course, all the time, and indeed, any one overhearing us and not seeing my uniform would never have dreamt for a moment that we were anything but three devoted subjects of King George.
On the other hand, we were surely proceeding on the assumption that nobody was behind a curtain or listening at the keyhole, and that being so, I could not help feeling that the elaborate pretence of being a mere party of ordinary acquaintances was a little unnecessary. At last I could not help saying something of what was in my mind.
"Is the war over?" I asked suddenly.
Both the others seemed surprised.
"I wish it were, Mr Belke!" said Miss Burnett with a sudden and moving change to seriousness.
"Then if it is not, why are we pretending so religiously that we have no business here but to drink tea, Miss Burnett?"
"I am not pretending; I am drinking it," she smiled.
"Yes, yes," I said, "but you know what I mean. It seems to me so un-German!"
They both looked at me rather hard.
"I'm afraid," said Miss Burnett, "that we of the secret service grow terribly cosmopolitan. Our habits are those of no country—or rather of all countries."
"I had almost forgotten," said Tiel, "that I once thought and felt like Mr Belke." And then he added this singular opinion: "It is Germany's greatest calamity—greater even than the coming in of Britain against her, or the Battle of the Marne—that those who guide her destinies have not forgotten it too."
"What do you mean?" I demanded, a little indignantly I must own.
"At every tea-party for many years Germany has talked about what interested herself—and that was chiefly war. At no tea-party has she tried to learn the thoughts and interests of the other guests. In consequence she does not yet understand the forces against her, why they act as they do, and how strong they are. But her enemies understand too well."
"You mean that she has been honest and they dishonest?"
"Yes," said Miss Burnett promptly and with a little smile, "my brother means that in order really to deceive people one has to act as we are acting now."
I laughed.
"But unfortunately now there is no one to deceive!"
She laughed too.
"But they might suddenly walk in!"
Tiel was not a frequent laugher, but he condescended to smile.
"Remember, Belke," he said, "I warned you on the first night we met that you must not only talk but think in English. If we don't do that constantly and continually when no one is watching us, how can we count on doing it constantly and continually when some one may be watching us?"
"Personally I should think it sufficient to wait till some one was watching," I said.
"There speaks Germany," smiled Tiel.
"Germany disdains to act a part all the time!" I cried.
I confess I was nettled by his tone, but his charming "sister" disarmed me instantly.
"Mr Belke means that he wants footlights and an orchestra and an audience before he mutters 'Hush! I hear her coming!' He doesn't believe in saying 'Hush!' in the corner of every railway carriage or under his umbrella. And I really think it makes him much less alarming company!"
"You explain things very happily, Eileen," said Tiel.
I was watching her face (for which there was every excuse!) and I saw that she started ever so slightly when he called her by her first name. This pleased me—I must confess it. It showed that they had not played this farce of brother and sister together before, and already I had begun to dislike a little the idea that they were old and intimate confederates. I also fancied that it showed she did not quite enjoy the familiarity. But she got her own back again instantly.
"It is my one desire to enlighten you, Alexander," she replied with a very serious air.
I could not help laughing aloud, and I must confess that Tiel laughed frankly too.
The next question that I remember our discussing was one of very immediate and vital interest to us all. It began with a remark by Eileen (as I simply must call her behind her back; 'Miss Burnett' smacks too much of Tiel's disguises—and besides it is too British). We were talking of the English, and she said—
"Well, anyhow they are not a very suspicious people. Look at this little party!"
"Sometimes I feel that they are almost incredibly unsuspicious," I said seriously. "In Germany this house would surely be either visited or watched!"
Tiel shook his head.
"In Kiel or Wilhelmshaven an English party could live just as unmolested," he replied, "provided that not the least trace of suspicion was aroused at the outset. That is the whole secret of my profession. One takes advantages of the fact that even the most wary and watchful men take the greater part of their surroundings for granted. The head of any War Office—German, French, English, or whatever it may be—doesn't suddenly conceive a suspicion of one of his clerks, unless something in the clerk's conduct calls his attention. If, then, it were possible to enter the War Office, looking and behaving exactly like one of the clerks, suspicion would not begin. It is the beginning one has to guard against."
"Why don't you enter the British War Office, then?" asked Eileen with a smile.
"Because, unfortunately, they know all the clerks intimately by sight. In this case they expected a minister whom nobody knew. The difficulty of the passport with its photograph was got over by a little ingenuity." (He threw me a quick grim smile.) "Thus I was able to appear as a person fully expected, and as long as I don't do anything inconsistent with the character, why should any one throw even so much as an inquisitive glance in my direction. Until suspicion begins, we are as safe here as in the middle of Berlin. Once it begins—well, it will be a very different story."
"And you don't think my coming will rouse any suspicion?" asked Eileen, with, for the first time (I fancied), a faint suggestion of anxiety.
"Suspicion? Certainly not! Just think. Put yourself in the shoes of the neighbours in the parish, or even of any naval officer who might chance to learn you were here. What is more natural than that the minister who—at the request of the people—is staying a week longer than he intended, should get his sister to look after him? The danger-point in both cases was passed when we got into the islands. We know that there was no suspicion roused in either case."
"How do you know?" I interposed.
"Another quality required for this work," replied Tiel with a detached air, "is enough imagination to foresee the precautions that will be required. One wants to establish precaution behind precaution, just as an army establishes a series of defensive positions. In this case I have got our good friend Ashington watching closely for the first evidence of doubt or inquiry. So that I know that both my sister and I passed the barrier without raising a question in anybody's mind."
"But how do you know that Ashington can be absolutely relied on?" I persisted.
"Yes," put in Eileen, "I was wondering too."
"Because Ashington will certainly share my fate—whatever that may be," said Tiel grimly. "He knows that; in fact he knows that I have probably taken steps to ensure that happening, in case there might be any loophole for him."
"But can't a man turn King's evidence (isn't that the term?) and get pardoned?" asked Eileen.
"Not a naval officer," said Tiel.
"No," I agreed. "I must say that for the British Navy. An officer would have no more chance of pardon in it than in our own navy."
"Well," smiled Eileen, "I feel relieved! Don't you, Mr Belke?"
"Yes," I said, "I begin to understand the whole situation more clearly. I pray that suspicion may not begin!"
"In that case," said Tiel, "you realise now, perhaps, why we have to keep up acting, whether any one is watching us or not."
"Yes," I admitted, "I begin to see your reasons a little better. But why didn't you tell me all this before?"
"All what?"
"Well—about Ashington, for instance."
"I suppose," he said, "the truth is, Belke, that you have laid your finger on another instance of people taking things for granted. I assumed you would realise these things. It was my own fault."
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that the real reason was his love of mystery and his Secret Service habit of distrusting people, but I realised that Eileen had shown a little of the same evasiveness, and I would not have her think that my criticism was directed against her.
Presently Tiel suggested that it would be wiser if I retired to my room, and for a moment there was a sharp, though politely expressed difference of opinion between us. I argued very naturally that since the servant was in our pay there was no danger to be apprehended within the house, and that I was as safe in the parlour as anywhere. In his mystery-making, ultra-cautious way, he insisted that a visitor might appear (he even suggested the police—though he had just previously said they had no suspicion!) and that he was going to run no risks. Eileen said a word on his side—though with a very kind look at me—and I consented to go. And then he requested me to stay there for the rest of the evening! Again Eileen saved a strained situation, and I said farewell stiffly to him and very differently to her; in fact I made a point of accentuating the difference.
I reached my room, lit a cigar, and for a time paced the floor in a state of mind which I found hard to analyse. I can only say that my feelings were both mixed and strong, and that at last, to give me relief, I sat down to write my narrative, and by nine o'clock in the evening had brought it up nearly to this point.
By that time of course the curtains were drawn and my lamp was lit, and as it was a windy chilly night, my fire was blazing brightly. Higher and higher rose the wind till it began to make a very heavy and constant booming in the chimney, like distant salvoes of great guns. Apart from the wind the old house was utterly quiet, and when the wooden stair suddenly creaked I dropped my pen and sat up very sharply. More and more distinctly I heard a firm but light tread coming up and up, until at last it ceased on the landing. And then came a gentle tap upon my door.