The key moved noiselessly in the lock. No drama at all accompanied his entry into the lofty, deeply-carpeted hall. The light was dim, the hall deserted, and when John had soundlessly closed the front door behind him, he hurried forward and ascended the carpeted stairs, two steps at a time.
From the servants' quarters in the lower regions he could hear voices faintly. No other sounds came to him, and in less than a minute after he passed the front door he found himself in Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's intimate boudoir. Here he cautiously closed the door behind him, turned the key in the lock and switched on the light. Everything was as usual, save only that on every previous visit to that room Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, brilliantly gowned, brilliantly beautiful, and always amiable to himself, had been his chief centre of interest. To-night, however, it was not Mrs. Beecher Monmouth he desired to cultivate, but that lady's belongings.
He was there under Dacent Smith's instructions to search for clues which would enable John's chief of department to check her flow of information to the enemy. For not yet had John been able to discover in what manner, within eight hours, she had been able to communicate with the submarine which sank the Malta.
John, standing with his back to the gold and white boudoir door, surveyed the room with a slight sense of bewilderment. It was difficult to know where to begin. Nevertheless, he did begin, and during the quiet minutes that followed he made a close search for documents in every possible hiding-place he could discover. His care and patience, however, met with no reward; he found nothing of the slightest significance.
When John had thoroughly exhausted the possibilities of the boudoir and had found nothing, he opened the door which communicated from that room directly into Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's spacious bedroom. He had never viewed this apartment before, and he was much impressed by its gorgeous furnishings, its shining brass twin bedsteads, its white French furniture and deep carpet of pale grey and rose colour.
Having quietly locked the second door of the room which opened into the passage, he began a rapid search, taking care to replace everything as he found it. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth would probably not return until half-past nine, and he felt that if he could complete his business quickly he would be able to slip downstairs and out of the house before being observed.
Cecily was the only person likely to disturb him, and he had already thought of a plan which might secure his safety in this event. In regard to Mr. Beecher Monmouth, John felt completely at ease about him. The "Ogre" had, a fortnight ago, been neatly transhipped to Ireland as a member of a Government commission of inquiry. Dacent Smith, with the aid of the Home Secretary, had brought this about without arousing Monmouth's suspicions. The fact that Beecher Monmouth adored his wife, and had desired to take her with him, had created something of a difficulty, but Dacent Smith had overcome this point in his habitual neat manner.
"No; I don't think I need worry," thought John, glancing at an expensive clock of ivory and silver which adorned the dressing-table. "I shall be safe for another half an hour at least."
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's bed was covered with a rich eiderdown covered in purple satin. John seated himself upon this sumptuous covering and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He had been twenty minutes in the bedroom of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, and had discovered nothing.
He noticed now a door, with a crystal knob, which opened into a wardrobe, which was a small room in itself. Here Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's numerous costumes hung in rows. John caught a glimpse of a shelf containing a score of pairs of boots, shoes and slippers. Beneath this shelf was a big tin box, a black japanned box, which immediately engaged John's attention.