“A man named Hodges was in your employ as a butler up to a fortnight ago. He had worked for you exactly seven weeks and one day. Do you know where he came from and who he really was, Mr. Carstairs?”
“No. Mrs. Carstairs engages the servants here. Are you going to tell me that he was a German spy?”
“Far from it, sir. 'He was a British secret service agent. His name was Bridgeford. He was killed by an automobile, but not accidentally as you have been led to believe. We have been looking for the driver of that car for two weeks. Last night we got him. He has confessed. Since six o'clock this evening three other men have been arrested,—all subordinate figures in the game. Before morning we expect to land at least one or two of the principal members of the shrewdest gang of spies operating in the name and interest of the Kaiser.”
“Including my wife,” said Carstairs, lifting his eyebrows.
Jones allowed the remark to pass without comment.
“Bridgeford,—or Hodges, as you knew him,—was sent to this city from London. For a long time he worked independently. A few days before his death, we received instructions from Washington to get in touch with him. That was the first we knew of him, I'll confess. The British Foreign Office advised our department that he had finally got hold of something big and tangible. But evidently the German Foreign Office also was wise to him. He reported to us on the afternoon of the day he was killed. He said that the time was not yet ripe to take positive steps, but that he would soon have the goods on four or five prominent people. He gave us the names of these people. Two of them he was sure about, the others were in doubt. Believe me, they were prominent. We were to hold off till he said the word. That night he was killed. But they didn't do it soon enough. We had all his data, incomplete as it was, and we've followed it up. That's why I am here this evening.”
He paused; and Carstairs said, harshly: “Well, go on,—why do you hesitate?”
“We know now, beyond all possible doubt, that information of the most vital character has reached the German Admiralty and the Foreign Office through Mrs. Carstairs,” said Jones deliberately.
“I may be pardoned if I repeat that it is a damned lie,” said Carstairs, gripping the arms of his chair.
“You have said just what you were expected to say, Mr. Carstairs. Before I have finished, however, you will realize that it is not a damned lie. I am authorized to exhibit certain memoranda from the Department. You will then agree with us that the information came from this house,—from this apartment, in fact.”