Innocently for months and years he had been a traitor to his country. Unwittingly he had been supplying to the scheming, brilliant woman whom he adored, all the knowledge that came to him in virtue of his position in Parliament. In doing this he had himself become a criminal. No court of law could, or would, punish him. That he knew. But with all his weaknesses he was a loyal Englishman, and in thinking of the tragedy that had been wrought by his doting folly, he resolved to act manfully at the last.
Monmouth left no word, no scrap of writing, no murmur of complaint against the woman who had betrayed him, and as John looked into the waxen face that looked old, even beyond its years, he felt for the dead man a genuine and deep sense of pity.
"After all," thought he, "he has chosen the only way out!" He looked up from the face of the dead man, and saw Cherriton's eyes brooding upon him narrowly. And all through the ensuing excitement he could feel Cherriton's eyes following him keenly, spying upon every movement he made. As the minutes passed John realised that the Captain not only suspected him of playing a double game in regard to Heatherpoint Fort, but he suspected him also of the murder of Beecher Monmouth.
John wondered what would happen when the ravished dispatch-box was discovered. And the thought came to him that, despite the tragedy that had occurred, Beecher Monmouth's return had been a useful circumstance for himself and his department. For when Mrs. Beecher Monmouth found that her lover's letters and the code had disappeared she would instantly jump to the conclusion that her husband had discovered them. Having made this discovery, his despair at her duplicity would account for his self-destruction.
Soon after the finding of the body the servants were summoned from below, but no one had heard the fatal shot.
Von Kuhne, who was disturbed and annoyed, showed an urgent desire to take himself off. He was gone, accompanied by Cherriton, by the time the police appeared.
When the police were in full possession of the situation John himself took leave of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth. She was standing in her boudoir, her face deathly white, her usually scarlet lips bluish in hue. John noticed that her hand, as she touched his, was ice-cold. His feelings were of intense detestation towards her, and he found it difficult to be even conventionally polite. As to offering her words of comfort or condolence, that would have been the merest mockery. He was amazed, in bidding her good-bye, to find that there were tears in her eyes. She was an astounding woman. Beecher Monmouth had destroyed himself solely because of her unutterable depths of treachery. She had never loved him; she had incessantly betrayed and duped him, and yet she could still shed tears for him!
John went away pondering upon the mystery of the eternal feminine.
CHAPTER XXV
John's work of that night was commended highly by Dacent Smith. For his discovery of the japanned box had put the department in possession of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's code and a score of letters evidently part of a secret correspondence conducted with a camp for officers, and with Kurt von Morgen, whose "plans for escape were progressing nicely"!