“Hark!” exclaimed the woman, as they heard someone at the outer door. Both listened. There was a grating sound like that of a key—as though the door was being unlocked.
This surprised them, and they exchanged inquiring glances.
There was a sound of heavy footsteps, causing them both to hold their breath.
Next instant the door of the bedroom was unceremoniously flung open, revealing upon the threshold two burly men in hard felt hats and overcoats presenting service revolvers at them.
It was a striking scene.
The woman screamed loudly, but the man, who had sprung to his feet to find himself thus cornered, stood firm, his face blanched, and his eyebrows contracted.
“And pray what’s the meaning of all this?” he demanded, in hoarse defiance.
A second later, however, he saw that behind the two men who entered the room to place himself and his companion under arrest, were three other persons. One was a naval officer in uniform, evidently from the Admiralty Intelligence Department, while the other two were men well-known to him—namely, Sir Houston Bird and Charles Trustram.
“Your clever game is up, Mr Rodwell!” exclaimed Trustram, entering the room with the naval captain, whose gaze fell at once upon the telegraph instruments mounted on the old sewing-machine in the corner.
“Yes,” exclaimed the officer. “And a pretty big game it seems to have been—eh? So you’ve been working a cable across to Germany, have you? We’ve had suspicion that the cable laid to Wangeroog might have had a second shore-end, and, indeed, we started dredging for it off the Spurn only two days ago.”