The Spy in Black

BY

J. STORER CLOUSTON

AUTHOR OF
'THE LUNATIC AT LARGE,' ETC.

William Blackwood and Sons
Edinburgh and London
1917

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
TWO'S TWO.
THE LUNATIC AT LARGE.
THE ADVENTURES OF M. D'HARICOT.
OUR LADY'S INN.
GAR-MISCATH.
THE PRODIGAL FATHER.
THE PEER'S PROGRESS.
HIS FIRST OFFENCE.

CONTENTS.

PART I.

THE NARRATIVE OF LIEUTENANT VON BELKE
(OF THE GERMAN NAVY).

PART II.

A FEW CHAPTERS BY THE EDITOR.

PART III.

LIEUTENANT VON BELKE'S NARRATIVE RESUMED.

PART IV.

LIEUTENANT VON BELKE'S NARRATIVE CONCLUDED.

PART V.

A FEW CONCLUDING CHAPTERS BY THE EDITOR,

PART I.

THE NARRATIVE OF LIEUTENANT VON BELKE
(OF THE GERMAN NAVY)

I.

THE LANDING.

If any one had been watching the bay that August night (which, fortunately for us, there was not), they would have seen up till an hour after midnight as lonely and peaceful a scene as if it had been some inlet in Greenland. The war might have been waging on another planet. The segment of a waning moon was just rising, but the sky was covered with clouds, except right overhead where a bevy of stars twinkled, and it was a dim though not a dark night. The sea was as flat and calm as you can ever get on an Atlantic coast—a glassy surface, but always a gentle regular bursting of foam upon the beach. In a semicircle the shore rose black, towering at either horn (and especially on the south) into high dark cliffs.

I suppose a bird or two may have been crying then as they were a little later, but there was not a light nor a sign of anything human being within a hundred miles. If one of the Vikings who used to live in those islands had revisited that particular glimpse of the moon, he could never have guessed that his old haunts had altered a tittle. But if he had waited a while he would have rubbed his eyes and wondered. Right between the headlands he would have seen it dimly:—a great thing that was not a fish rising out of the calm water, and then very stealthily creeping in and in towards the southern shore.

When we were fairly on the surface I came on deck and gazed over the dark waters to the darker shore, with—I don't mind confessing it now—a rather curious sensation. To tell the truth, I was a little nervous, but I think I showed no sign of it to Wiedermann.

"You have thought of everything you can possibly need?" he asked in a low voice.

"Everything, sir, I think," I answered confidently.

"No need to give you tips!" he said with a laugh.

I felt flattered—but still my heart was beating just a little faster than usual!

In we crept closer and closer, with the gentlest pulsation of our engines that could not have been heard above the lapping of the waves on the pebbles. An invisible gull or two wheeled and cried above us, but otherwise there was an almost too perfect stillness. I could not help an uncomfortable suspicion that someone was watching. Someone would soon be giving the alarm, someone would presently be playing the devil with my schemes. It was sheer nonsense, but then I had never played the spy before—at least, not in war-time.

Along the middle of the bay ran a beach of sand and pebbles, with dunes and grass links above, but at the southern end the water was deep close inshore, and there were several convenient ledges of rock between the end of this beach and the beginning of the cliffs. The submarine came in as close as she dared, and then, without an instant's delay, the boat was launched. Wiedermann, myself, two sailors, and the motor-bicycle just managed to squeeze in, and we cautiously pulled for the ledges.

The tide was just right (we had thought of everything, I must say that), and after a minute or two's groping along the rocks, we found a capital landing. Wiedermann and I jumped ashore as easily as if it had been a quay, and my bicycle should have been landed without a hitch. How it happened I know not, but just as the sailors were lifting it out, the boat swayed a little and one of the clumsy fellows let his end of it slip. A splash of spray broke over it; a mere nothing, it seemed at the time, and then I had hold of it and we lifted it on to the ledge.

Wiedermann spoke sharply to the man, but I assured him no harm had been done, and between us we wheeled the thing over the flat rocks, and pulled it up to the top of the grass bank beyond.

"I can manage all right by myself now," I said. "Good-bye, sir!"

He gave my hand a hard clasp.

"This is Thursday night," he said. "We shall be back on Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday nights, remember."

"The British Navy and the weather permitting!" I laughed.

"Do not fear!" said he. "I shall be here, and we shall get you aboard somehow. Come any one of those nights that suits him."

"That suits him?" I laughed. "Say rather that suits Providence!"

"Well," he repeated, "I'll be here anyhow. Good luck!"

We saluted, and I started on my way, wheeling my bicycle over the grass. I confess, however, that I had not gone many yards before I stopped and looked back. Wiedermann had disappeared from the top of the bank, and in a moment I heard the faint sounds of the boat rowing back. Very dimly against the grey sea I could just pick out the conning tower and low side of the submarine. The gulls were still crying, but in a more sombre key, I fancied.

So here was I, Conrad von Belke, lieutenant in the German Navy, treading British turf underfoot, cut off from any hope of escape for three full days at least! And it was not ordinary British turf either. I was on the holy of holies, actually landed on those sacred, jealously-guarded islands (which, I presume, I must not even name here), where the Grand Fleet had its lair. As to the mere act of landing, well, you have just seen that there was no insuperable difficulty in stepping ashore from a submarine at certain places, if the conditions were favourable and the moment cunningly chosen; but I proposed to penetrate to the innermost sanctuary, and spend at least three days there—a very different proposition!

I had been chosen for this service for three reasons: because I was supposed to be a cool hand in what the English call a "tight place"; because I could talk English not merely fluently, but with the real accent and intonation—like a native, in fact; and I believe because they thought me not quite a fool. As you shall hear, there was to be one much wiser than I to guide me. He was indeed the brain of this desperate enterprise, and I but his messenger and assistant. Still, one wants a messenger with certain qualities, and as it is the chief object of this narrative to clear my honour in the eyes of those who sent me, I wish to point out that they deliberately chose me for this job—I did not select myself—and that I did my best.

It was my own idea to take a motor-bicycle, but it was an idea cordially approved by those above me. There were several obvious advantages. A motor-cyclist is not an uncommon object on the roads even of those out-of-the-way islands, so that my mere appearance would attract no suspicion; and besides, they would scarcely expect a visitor of my sort to come ashore equipped with such an article. Also, I would cover the ground quickly, and, if it came to the worst, might have a chance of evading pursuit. But there was one reason which particularly appealed to me: I could wear my naval uniform underneath a suit of cyclist's overalls, and so if I were caught might make a strong plea to escape the fate of a spy; in fact, I told myself I was not a spy,—simply a venturesome scout. Whether the British would take the same view of me was another question! Still, the motor-cycle did give me a chance.

My first task was to cover the better part of twenty miles before daybreak and join forces with "him" in the very innermost shrine of this sanctuary—or rather, on the shore of it. This seemed a simple enough job; I had plenty of time, the roads, I knew, were good, nobody would be stirring (or anyhow, ought to be) at that hour, and the arrangements for my safe reception were, as you shall hear, remarkably ingenious. If I once struck the hard main road, I really saw nothing that could stop me.

The first thing was to strike this road. Of course I knew the map by heart, and had a copy in my pocket as a precaution that was almost superfluous, but working by map-memory in the dark is not so easy when one is going across country.

The grassy bank fell gently before me as the land sloped down from the cliffs to the beach, and I knew that within a couple of hundred yards I should find a rough road which followed the shore for a short way, and then when it reached the links above the beach, turned at right angles across them to join the highroad. Accordingly I bumped my motor-cycle patiently over the rough grass, keeping close to the edge of the bank so as to guide myself, and every now and then making a detour of a few yards inland to see whether the road had begun. The minutes passed, the ground kept falling till I was but a little above the level of the glimmering sea, the road ought to have begun to keep me company long ago, but never a sign of it could I find. Twice in my detours I stumbled into what seemed sand-holes, and turned back out of them sharply. And then at last I realised that I had ceased to descend for the last hundred yards or more, and in fact must be on the broad stretch of undulating sea links that fringed the head of the bay. But where was my road?

I stopped, bade myself keep quite cool and composed, and peered round me into the night. The moon was farther up and it had become a little lighter, but the clouds still obscured most of the sky and it was not light enough to see much. Overhead were the stars; on one hand the pale sea merged into the dark horizon; all around me were low black hummocks that seem to fade into an infinity of shadows. The gulls still cried mournfully, and a strong pungent odour of seaweed filled the night air. I remember that pause very vividly.

I should have been reckless enough to light a cigarette had I not feared that our submarine might still be on the surface, and Wiedermann might see the flash and dub me an idiot. I certainly needed a smoke very badly and took some credit to myself for refraining (though perhaps I ought really have given it to Wiedermann). And then I decided to turn back, slanting, however, a little away from the sea so as to try and cut across the road. A minute or two later I tumbled into a small chasm and came down with the bicycle on top of me. I had found my road.

The fact was that the thing, though marked on the large-scale map as a road of the third, fourth, or tenth quality (I forget which), was actually nothing more or less than three parallel crevasses in the turf filled with loose sand. It was into these crevasses that I had twice stumbled already. Now with my back to the sea and keeping a yard or two away from this wretched track, but with its white sand to guide me, I pushed my motor-cycle laboriously over the rough turf for what seemed the better part of half an hour. In reality I suppose it was under ten minutes, but with the night passing and that long ride before me, I never want a more patience-testing job. And then suddenly the white sand ceased. I stepped across to see what was the matter, and found myself on a hard highroad. It was a branch of the main road that led towards the shore, and for the moment I had quite forgotten its existence. I could have shouted for joy.

"Now," I said to myself, "I'm off!"

And off I went, phut-phut-phutting through the cool night air, with a heart extraordinarily lightened. That little bit of trouble at the start had made the rest of the whole wild enterprise seem quite simple now that it was safely over.

I reached the end of this branch, swung round to the right into the highroad proper and buzzed along like a tornado. The sea by this time had vanished, but I saw the glimmer of a loch on my left, and close at hand low walls and dim vistas of cultivated fields. A dark low building whizzed by, and then a gaunt eerie-looking standing stone, and then came a dip and beyond it a little rise in the ground. As I took this rise there suddenly came upon me a terrible sinking of the heart. Phut-phut! went my cycle, loudly and emphatically, and then came a horrible pause. Phut! once more; then two or three feeble explosions, and then silence. My way stopped; I threw over my leg and landed on the road.

"What the devil!" I muttered.

I had cleaned the thing, oiled it, seen that everything was in order; what in heaven's name could be the matter? And then with a dreadful sensation I remembered that wave of salt water.

II.

NIGHT IN THE RUINED HOUSE.

You may smile to think of a sailor being dismayed by a splash of salt water; but not if you are a motor-cyclist! Several very diabolical consequences may ensue.

In the middle of that empty road, in that alien land, under the hostile stars, I took my electric torch and endeavoured to discover what was the matter. From the moment I remembered the probable salt, wet cause of my mishap I had a pretty hopeless feeling. At the end of ten minutes I felt not merely quite hopeless, but utterly helpless. Helpless as a child before a charging elephant, hopeless as a man at the bottom of an Alpine crevasse. Ignition, carburettor, what had been damaged? In good daylight it might take me an hour or two first to discover and then to mend. By the radiance of my torch I would probably spend a night or two, and be none the wiser.

And meantime the precious dark hours were slipping away, and scattered all over the miles of country lay foemen sleeping—nothing but foes. I was in a sea-girt isle with but one solitary friend, and he was nearly twenty miles away, and I had the strictest orders not to approach him save under the cover of darkness. Enough cause for a few pretty black moments, I think you will allow.

And then I took myself by the scruff of the neck and gave myself a hearty shake. Had I been picked for this errand because I was a coward or a resourceless fool? No! Well, then, I must keep my head and use my wits, and if I could not achieve the best thing, I must try to do the second best. I ran over all the factors in the problem.

Firstly, to wait in the middle of that road trying to accomplish a job which I knew perfectly well it was a thousand chances to one against my managing, was sheer perverse folly.

Secondly, to leave my cycle in a ditch and try to cover the distance on my own two legs before daybreak was a physical impossibility. My cycle being one of the modern kind with no pedals, I could not even essay the dreadful task of grinding it along with my feet. Therefore I could not reach my haven to-night by any conceivable means.

On the other hand, I would still be expected to-morrow night, for our plans were laid to allow something for mischances; so if I could conceal myself and my cycle through the coming day, all might yet be well. Therefore I must devise some plan for concealing myself.

Logic had brought me beautifully so far, but now came the rub—Where was I to hide? These islands, you may or may not know, are to all practical purposes treeless and hedgeless. They have many moors and waste places, but of an abominable kind for a fugitive—especially a fugitive with a motor-cycle. The slopes are long and usually gentle and quite exposed; ravines and dells are few and far between and farther still to reach. Caves and clefts among the rocks might be found no doubt, but I should probably break my neck looking for them in the dark. Conceive of a man with a motor-bicycle looking for a cave by starlight!

And then a heaven-sent inspiration visited me. On board we had of course maps with every house marked, however small, and who lived in it, and so on. We do things thoroughly, even though at the moment there may not be any apparent reason for some of the details. I blessed our system now, for suddenly in my mind's eye I saw a certain group of farm buildings marked "ruinous and uninhabited." And now where the devil was it?

My own pocket map of course had no such minute details and I had to work my memory hard. And then in a flash I saw the map as distinctly as if it had really been under my eye instead of safely under the Atlantic. "I have a chance still!" I said to myself.

By the light of my torch I had a careful look at my small map, and then I set forth pushing my lifeless cycle. To get to my refuge I had to turn back and retrace my steps (or perhaps I should rather say my revolutions) part way to the shore till I came to a road branching southwards, roughly parallel to the coast. It ascended continuously and pretty steeply, and I can assure you it was stiff work pushing a motor-cycle up that interminable hill, especially when one was clad for warmth and not for exercise. Dimly in the waxing moonlight I could see low farm buildings here and there, but luckily not a light shone nor a dog barked from one of them. Glancing over my shoulder I saw the sea, now quite distinct and with a faint sheen upon its surface, widening and widening as I rose. But I merely glanced at it enviously and concentrated my attention on the task of finding my "ruinous and uninhabited" farm. I twice nearly turned off the road too soon, but I did find it at last—a low tumble-down group of little buildings some two hundred yards or so off the road on the right, or seaward side. Here the cultivated fields stopped, and beyond them the road ascended through barren moorland. My refuge was, in fact, the very last of the farms as one went up the hill. It lay pretty isolated from the others, and there was a track leading to it that enabled me to push my cycle along fairly comfortably.

"I might have come to a much worse place!" I said to myself hopefully.

Though there was not a sign of life about the place, and not a sound of any kind, I still proceeded warily, as I explored the derelict farm. I dared not even use my torch till I had stooped through an open door, and was safely within one of the buildings. When I flashed it round me I saw then that I stood in a small and absolutely empty room, which might at one time have been anything from a parlour to a byre, but now seemed consecrated to the cultivation of nettles. It had part of a roof overhead, and seemed as likely to suit my purpose as any other of the dilapidated group, so I brought my cycle in, flattened a square yard or two of nettles, and sat down on the floor with my back against the wall. And then I lit a cigarette and meditated.

"My young friend," I said to myself, "you are in an awkward position, but, remember, you have been in awkward positions before when there were no such compensating advantages! Let us consider these advantages and grow cheerful. You are privileged to render your country such a service as few single Germans have been able to render her—if this plan succeeds! If it fails, your sacrifice will not be unknown or unappreciated. Whatever happens, you will have climbed a rung or two up the ladder of duty, and perhaps of fame."

This eloquence pleased my young friend so much that he lit another cigarette.

"Consider again," I resumed, "what an opportunity you have been unexpectedly presented with for exhibiting your resourcefulness and your coolness and your nerve! If it had not been for that wave of salt water your task would have been almost too simple. Your own share of the enterprise would merely have consisted in a couple of easy rides on a motor-cycle, and perhaps the giving of a few suggestions, or the making of a few objections, which would probably have been brushed aside as worthless. Now you have really something to test you!"

This oration produced a less exhilarating effect. In fact, it set me to wondering very gravely how I could best justify this implied tribute to my powers of surmounting difficulties. Till the day broke all I had to do was to sit still, but after that—what? I pondered for a few minutes, and then I came to the conclusion that an hour or two's sleep would probably freshen my wits. I knew I could count on waking when the sun rose, and so I closed my eyes, and presently was fast asleep.

When I awoke, it was broad daylight. Looking first through the pane-less window and then through the gap in the roof, I saw that it was a grey, still morning that held promise of a fine day, though whether that was to my advantage or disadvantage I did not feel quite sure. Nobody seemed to be stirring yet about the houses or fields, so I had still time for deliberation before fate forced my hand.

First of all, I had a look round my immediate surroundings. I was well sheltered, as all the walls were standing, and there was most of a roof over my head (the last being a point of some importance in case any aircraft chanced to make a flight in this direction). It is true that the door was gone, but even here I seemed fortunate, for another small building, also dilapidated-looking but in somewhat better condition, stood right opposite the open doorway and hid it completely. This little building still had a dishevelled door which stood closed, and for a moment I half thought of changing my shelter and taking possession of it; and then I decided that where fate had directed my steps, there should I abide.

The next thing obviously was to overhaul my motor-cycle, and this I set about at once, though all the time my thoughts kept working. In the course of an hour or so I had located the trouble in the carburettor and put it right again, and I had also begun to realise a few of the pros and cons of the situation.

I now ate a few sandwiches, had a pull at my flask, lit a cigarette, and put the case to myself squarely.

"With a motor-cycle, the whole island at my disposal, and daylight in which to search it through, I can surely find a hiding-place a little farther removed from inquisitive neighbours," I said to myself. "So the sooner I am off the better."

But then I answered back—

"On the other hand it may take me some hours to find a better spot than this, and a man tearing about the country on a motor-cycle is decidedly more conspicuous in the early morning than in the middle of the day or the afternoon when cyclists are natural objects.

"But again, if I do think of leaving this place I certainly ought not to be seen in the act of emerging from a ruinous house pushing my cycle—not, at least, if I wish to be considered a normal feature of the landscape. I have a chance of escaping now unobserved; shall I have such a chance later in the day?"

Finally I decided to compromise. I should stay where I was till the hour when all the farmers had their midday meal. Then I might well hope to slip out unobserved, and thereafter scour the country looking for the ideal hiding-place without attracting any particular attention. But whatever merits this scheme may have had were destined never to be tested.

From my seat amid the nettles I could see right through the open door, and my eyes all this while were resting on the glimpse of grey building outside. All at once I held my breath, and the hand that was lifting a cigarette to my lips grew rigid. A thin wisp of smoke was rising from the chimney.

III.

BEHIND THE WALL.

"Ruinous" these farm buildings certainly were; but "uninhabited"—obviously not quite! I rose stealthily and crossed to the door, and just as I reached it the door of the other house began to open. I stepped back and peered round the corner for quite a minute before anything more happened. My neighbour, whoever he was, seemed unconscionably slow in his movements.

And then a very old, bent, and withered woman appeared, with a grey shawl about her head. As she looked slowly round her, first to one side and then to the other, I cautiously drew back; but even as I did so I knew it was too late. A wisp of smoke had given us both away. This time it was a trail from my cigarette which I could see quite plainly drifting through the open door.

I heard her steps coming towards me, and then her shadow filled the doorway. There was nothing for it but taking the bull by the horns.

"Good morning!" I said genially.

She did not start. She did not speak. She just stared at me out of as unpleasant-looking a pair of old eyes as I have ever looked into. I suspected at once why the old crone lived here by herself; she did not look as if she would be popular among her neighbours.

"I think it is going to be a fine day," I continued breezily.

She simply continued to stare; and if ever I saw suspicion in human eyes, I saw it in hers.

"What do you think yourself?" I inquired with a smile. "I have no doubt you are more weatherwise than I."

Then at last she spoke, and I thought I had never heard a more sinister remark.

"Maybe it will be a fine day for some," she replied.

"I hope I may be one of them!" I said as cheerfully as possible.

She said not one word in reply, and her silence completed the ominous innuendo.

It struck me that a word of explanation would be advisable.

"My bicycle broke down," I said, "and I took the liberty of bringing it in here to repair it."

Her baleful gaze turned upon my hapless motor-cycle.

"What for did you have to mend it in here?" she inquired; very pertinently, I could not but admit.

"It was the most convenient place I could find," I replied carelessly.

"To keep it from the rain maybe?" she suggested.

"Well," I admitted, "a roof has some advantages."

"Then," said she, "you've been here a long while, for there's been no rain since I wakened up."

"But I didn't say I came here for shelter," I said hastily.

She stared at me again for a few moments.

"You're saying first one thing and then the other," she pronounced.

I felt inclined to tell her that she had missed her vocation. What a terrible specimen of the brow-beating, cross-examining lawyer she would have made! However, I decided that my safest line was cheerful politeness.

"Have it your own way, my good dame!" I said lightly.

Her evil eyes transfixed me.

"You'll be a foreigner," she said.

"A foreigner!" I exclaimed; "why on earth should you think that?"

"You're using queer words," she replied.

"What words?" I demanded.

"Dame is the German for an old woman," said she.

This astonishing philological discovery might have amused me at another time, but at this moment it only showed me too clearly how her thoughts were running.

"Well," said I, "if it's German, I can only say it is the first word of that beastly language I've ever spoken!"

Again I was answered by a very ominous silence. It occurred to me very forcibly that the sooner I removed myself from this neighbourhood the better.

"Well," I said, "my bicycle is mended now, so I had better be off."

"You had that," she agreed.

"Good-bye!" I cried as I led my cycle out, but she never spoke a syllable in reply.

"Fate has not lost much time in forcing my hand!" I said to myself as I pushed my motor-cycle along the track towards the highroad. I thought it wiser not to look round, but just before I reached the road I glanced over my left shoulder, and there was the old woman crossing the fields at a much brisker pace than I should have given her credit for, and heading straight for the nearest farm. My hand was being forced with a vengeance.

Instinctively I should liked to have turned uphill and got clear of this district immediately, but I was not sure how my cycle would behave itself, and dared not risk a stiff ascent to begin with. So I set off at top speed down the road I had come the night before, passing the old crone at a little distance off, and noticing more than one labourer in the fields or woman at a house door, staring with interest at this early morning rider. When the news had spread of where he had come from, and with what language he interlarded his speech, they might do something more than stare. There was a telegraph-office not at all far away.

As I sped down that hill and swung round away from the sea at the foot, I did a heap of quick thinking. As things had turned out I dared not make for any place of concealment far off the highroads. Now that there was a probability of the hue and cry being raised, or at least of a look-out being kept for me, the chances of successfully slipping up the valley of some burn without any one's notice were enormously decreased. I had but to glance round at the openness of the countryside to realise that. No; on the highroads I could at least run away, but up in the moors I should be a mere trapped rat.

Then I had the bright thought of touring in zigzag fashion round and round the island, stopping every here and there to address an inhabitant and leave a false clue, so as to confuse my possible pursuers. But what about my petrol? I might need every drop if I actually did come to be chased. So I gave up that scheme.

Finally, I decided upon a plan which really seems to me now to be as promising as any I could think of. About the least likely place to look for me would be a few miles farther along the same road that ran past my last night's refuge, in the opposite direction from that in which people had seen me start. I resolved to make a detour and then work back to that road.

I had arrived at this decision by the time I reached the scene of last night's mishap. Fortunately my cycle was running like a deer now, and I swept up the little slope in a few seconds and sped round the loch, opening up fresh vistas of round-topped heather hills and wide green or brown valleys every minute. At a lonely bit of the road I jumped off, studied my map afresh, and then dashed on again.

Presently a side road opened, leading back towards the coast, and round the corner I sped; but even as I did so the utter hopelessness of my performance struck me vividly—that is to say, if a really serious and organised hunt for me were to be set afoot. For the roadside was dotted with houses, often at considerable intervals it is true, but then all of them had such confoundedly wide views over that open country. There was a house or two at the very corner where I turned, and I distinctly saw a face appearing at a window to watch me thunder past. The noise these motor-cycles make is simply infernal!

It was then that I fell into the true spirit for such an adventure. Since the chances were everywhere against me if my enemies took certain steps, well then, the only thing to do was to hope they did not take them and dismiss that matter from my mind. I was taking the best precautions I could think of, and the cooler I kept and better spirits I was in, the more likely would luck be to follow me. For luck is a discerning lady and likes those who trust her. Accordingly, the sun being now out and the morning beautifully fine, I decided to enjoy the scenery and make the most of a day ashore.

My first step was to ease up and ride just as slowly as I could, and then I saw at once that I was doing the wisest thing in every way. I made less noise and less dust, and was altogether much less of a phenomenon. And this encouraged me greatly to keep to my new resolution.

"If I leave it all to luck, she will advise me well!" I said to myself.

I headed coastwards through a wide marshy valley with but few houses about, and in a short time saw the sea widening before me and presently struck the road I was seeking. At the junction I obeyed an impulse, and, jumping off my cycle, paused to survey the scenery. A fertile vale fell from where I stood, down to a small bay between headlands. It was filled with little farms, and all at once there came over me an extraordinary impression of peacefulness and rest. Could it actually be that this was a country at war; that naval war, indeed, was very very close at hand, and beneath those shining waters a submarine might even now be stealing or a loose mine drifting? The wide, sunshiny, placid atmosphere of the scene, with its vast expanse of clear blue sky, larks singing high up and sea-birds crying about the shore, soothed my spirits like a magician's wand. I mounted and rode on again in an amazingly pleasant frame of mind for a spy within a hair's-breadth of capture, and very probably of ignominious death.

Up a long hill my engine gently throbbed, with moorland on either side that seemed to be so desolated by the gales and sea spray that even heather could scarcely flourish. I meant to stop and rest by the wayside, but after a look at the map I thought on the whole I had better put another mile or two between me and the lady with the baleful eyes. At the top I had a very wide prospect of inland country to the left, a treeless northern-looking scene, all green and brown with many lakes reflecting the sunshine. A more hopeless land to hide in I never beheld, and I was confirmed in my reckless resolution. Chance alone must protect me.

Down a still steeper hill I rode, only now amid numberless small farms and with another bay shining ahead. The road ran nearly straight into the water and then bent suddenly and followed the rim of the bay, with nothing but empty sea-links on the landward side. The farms were left behind, a mansion-house by the shore was still a little distance ahead, and there was not a living soul in sight as I came to a small stone-walled enclosure squeezed in between the road and the beach below. I jumped off, led my cycle round this and laid it on the ground, and then seated myself with my back against the low wall of loose stones and my feet almost projecting over the edge of the steep slope of pebbles that fell down to the sand.

I was only just out of sight, but unless any one should walk along the beach, out of sight I certainly was, and it struck me forcibly that ever since I had given myself up to luck, every impulse had been an inspiration. If I were conducting the search for myself, would I ever dream of looking for the mysterious runaway behind a wall three feet high within twenty paces of a public road and absolutely exposed to a wide sweep of beach? "No," I told myself, "I certainly should not!"

There I sat for hour after hour basking in the sunshine, and yet despite my heavy clothing kept at a bearable temperature by gentle airs of cool breeze off the sea. The tide, which was pretty high when I arrived, crept slowly down the sands, but save for the cruising and running of gulls and little piping shore-birds, that was all the movement on the beach. Not a soul appeared below me all that time. The calm shining sea remained absolutely empty except once for quarter of an hour or so when a destroyer was creeping past far out. To the seaward there was not a hint of danger or the least cause for apprehension.

On the road behind me I did hear sounds several times, which I confess disturbed my equanimity much more than I meant to let them. Once a motor-car buzzed past, and not to hold my breath as the sound swelled so rapidly and formidably was more than I could achieve. The jogging of a horse and trap twice set me wondering, despite myself, whether there were a couple of men with carbines aboard. But the slow prolonged rattling and creaking of carts was perhaps the sound that worried me most. They took such an interminable time to pass! I conceived a very violent distaste for carts.

I do take some credit to myself that not once did I yield to the temptation to peep over my wall and see who it was that passed along the road. I did not even turn and try to peer through the chinks in the stones, but simply sat like a limpet till the sounds had died completely away. The only precaution I took was to extinguish my cigarette if I chanced at the moment to be smoking.

In the course of my long bask in that sun bath I ate most of my remaining sandwiches and a cake or two of chocolate, but kept the remainder against emergencies. At last as the sun wore round, gradually descending till it shone right into my eyes, and I realised that the afternoon was getting far through, hope began to rise higher and higher. It actually seemed as if I were going to be allowed to remain within twenty yards of a highroad till night fell. "And then let them look for me!" I thought.

I don't think my access of optimism caused me to make any incautious movement. I know I was not smoking, in fact it must simply have been luck determined to show me that I was not her only favourite. Anyhow, when I first heard a footstep it was on the grass within five yards of me, and the next moment a man came round the corner of the wall and stopped dead short at the sight of me.

He was a countryman, a small farmer or hired man, I should judge—a broad-faced, red-bearded, wide-shouldered, pleasant-looking fellow, and he must have been walking for some distance on the grass by the roadside, though what made him step the few yards out of his way to look round the corner of the wall, I have never discovered to this day. Possibly he meant to descend to the beach at that point. Anyhow there he was, and as we looked into one another's eyes for a moment in silence I could tell as surely as if he had said the words that he had heard the story of the suspicious motor-cyclist.

IV.

THE NAILS.

"A fine afternoon," I remarked, without rising, and I hope without showing any sign of emotion other than pleasure at making an acquaintance.

"Aye," said he, briefly and warily.

This discouraging manner was very ominous, for the man was as good-natured and agreeable-looking a fellow as I ever met.

"The weather looks like keeping up," I said.

He continued to look at me steadily, and made no answer at all this time. Then he turned his back to me very deliberately, lifted his felt hat, and waved it two or three times round his head, evidently to some one in the distance. I saw instantly that mischief was afoot and time precious, yet the fellow was evidently determined and stout-hearted, besides being physically very powerful, and it would never do to rouse his suspicions to the pitch of grappling with me. Of course I might use my revolver, but I had no wish to add a civilian's death to the other charge I might have to face before that sun had set. Suddenly luck served me well again by putting into my head a well-known English cant phrase.

"Are you often taken like that?" I inquired with a smile.

He turned round again and stared blankly. I imitated the movement of waving a hat, and laughed.

"Or is it a family custom?" I asked.

He was utterly taken aback, and looked rather foolish. I sat still and continued to smile at him. And then he broke into a smile himself.

"I was just waving on a friend," he explained, and I could detect a note of apology in his voice. For the moment he was completely hoodwinked. How long it would last Heaven knew, but I clearly could not afford to imitate Mr Asquith, and "wait and see."

"Oh," I said with a laugh, "I see!"

And then I glanced at my wristlet watch, and sprang to my feet with an exclamation.

"By Jove, I'll be late!" I said, and picking up my cycle wheeled it briskly to the road, remarking genially as I went, "the days are not so long as they were!"

I never saw a man more obviously divided in mind. Was I the suspicious person he fancied at first? Or was I an honest and peaceable gentleman? Meanwhile I had cast one brief but sufficient glance along the road. Just at the foot of the steep hill down which I had come in the morning a man was mounting a motor-cycle. Beside him stood one or two others—country folk, so far as I could judge at the distance, and piecing things together, it seemed plain that my friend had lately been one of the party, and that the man they had been gossiping with was a motor-cyclist in search of me, who had actually paused to make inquiries within little over a quarter of a mile from where I sat. Quite possibly he had been there for some time, and almost certainly he would have ridden past without suspecting my presence if it had not been for the diabolical mishap of this chance encounter.

I had planted my cycle on the road, and was ready to mount before my friend had made up his mind what to do. Even then his procedure luckily lacked decision.

"Beg pardon, sir—!" he began, making a step towards me.

"Good evening!" I shouted, and the next instant the engine had started, and I was in my saddle.

Even then my pursuer had got up so much speed that he must surely have caught me had he not stopped to make inquiry of my late acquaintance. I was rounding a corner at the moment, and so was able to glance over my shoulder and see what was happening. The cyclist was then in the act of remounting, and I noted that he was in very dark clothes. It might or might not have been a uniform, but I fancied it was. Anyhow, I felt peculiarly little enthusiasm for making his acquaintance.

On I sped, working rapidly up to forty miles an hour, and quite careless now of any little sensation I might cause. I had sensations myself, and did not grudge them to other people. The road quickly left the coast and turned directly inland, and presently it began to wind along the edge of a long reedy stretch of water, with a steep bank above it on the other side. The windings gave me several chances of catching a glimpse of my pursuer, and I saw that I was gaining nothing; in fact, if anything he was overhauling me.

"I'll try them!" I said to myself.

"Them" were nails. Wiedermann had done me no more than justice in assuming I had come well provided against possible contingencies. Each of my side-pockets had a little packet of large-headed, sharp-pointed nails. I had several times thrown them experimentally on the floor of my cabin, and found that a gratifying number lay point upwards. I devoutly prayed they would behave as reasonably now.

This stretch of road was ideal for their use—narrow, and with not a house to give succour or a spectator to witness such a very suspicious performance, I threw a handful behind me, and at the next turn of the road glanced round to see results. The man was still going strong. I threw another handful and then a third, but after that the road ran straight for a space, and it was only when it bent to the right round the head of the loch that I was able to see him again. He had stopped far back, and was examining his tyres.

The shadows by this time were growing long, but there were still some hours before darkness would really shelter me, and in the meantime what was I to do with myself, and where to turn? Judging from the long time that had elapsed between my discovery in the early morning and the appearance of this cyclist at the very place which I had thought would be the last where they would seek me, the rest of the island had probably been searched and the hue and cry had died down by this time. So for some time I ought to be fairly safe anywhere: until, in fact, my pursuer had reached a telegraph office, and other scouts had then been collected and sent out. And if my man was an average human being, he would certainly waste a lot of precious time in trying to pump up his tyres or mend them before giving it up as a bad job and walking to a telegraph office.

That, in fact, was what he did, for in this open country I was able a few minutes later to see him in the far distance still stopping by that loch shore. But though I believe in trusting to chance, I like to give myself as many chances as possible. I knew where all the telegraph offices were, and one was a little nearer him than I quite liked. So half a mile farther on, at a quiet spot on a hill, I jumped off and swarmed up one of the telegraph-posts by the roadside, and then I took out of my pocket another happy inspiration. When I came down again, there was a gap in the wire.

There was now quite a good chance that I might retain my freedom till night fell, and if I could hold out so long as that—well, we should see what happened then! But what was to be done in the meantime? A strong temptation assailed me, and I yielded to it. I should get as near to my night's rendezvous as possible, and try to find some secluded spot there. It was not perhaps the very wisest thing to risk being seen there by daylight and bring suspicion on the neighbourhood where I meant to spend two or three days; but you will presently see why I was so strongly tempted. So great, in fact, was the temptation that till I got there I hardly thought of the risk.

I rode for a little longer through the same kind of undulating, loch-strewn inland country, and then I came again close to the sea. But it was not the open sea this time. It was a fairly wide sound that led from the ocean into a very important place, and immediately I began to see things. What things they were precisely I may not say, but they had to do with warfare, with making this sound about as easy for a hostile ship to get through, whether above the water or below, as a pane of glass is for a bluebottle. As I rode very leisurely, with my head half turned round all the while, I felt that my time was not wasted if I escaped safely, having seen simply what I now noted. For my eye could put interpretations on features that would convey nothing to the ordinary traveller.

Gradually up and up a long gentle incline I rode, with the sound falling below me and a mass of high dark hills rising beyond it. Behind me the sun was now low, and my shadow stretched long on the empty road ahead. For it was singularly empty, and the country-side was utterly peaceful; only at sea was there life—with death very close beside it. And now and then there rose at intervals a succession of dull, heavy sounds that made the earth quiver. I knew what they meant!

Then came a dip, and then a very steep long hill through moorland country. And then quite suddenly and abruptly I came to the top. It was a mere knife-edge, with the road instantly beginning to descend steeply on the other side, but I did not descend with the road. I jumped off and stared with bated breath.

Ahead of me and far below, a wide island-encircled sheet of water lay placid and smiling in the late afternoon sunshine. Strung along one side of it were lines of grey ships, with a little smoke rising from most of their funnels, but lying quite still and silent—as still and silent as the farms and fields on shore. Those distant patches of grey, with the thin drifts of smoke and the masts encrusted with small grey blobs rising out of their midst, those were the cause of all my country's troubles. But for them peace would have long since been dictated and a mightier German Empire would be towering above all other States in the world. How I hated—and yet (being a sailor myself) how I respected them!

One solitary monster of this Armada was slowly moving across the land-locked basin. Parallel to her and far away moved a tiny vessel with a small square thing following her at an even distance, and the sun shining on this showed its colour red. Suddenly out of the monster shot a series of long bright flashes. Nothing else happened for several seconds, and then almost simultaneously "Boom! boom! boom!" hit my ear, and a group of tall white fountains sprang up around the distant red target. The Grand Fleet of England was preparing for "The Day"!

I knew the big vessel at a glance; I knew her, at least, as one of a certain four, and for some moments I watched her gunnery practice, too fascinated to stir. I noted how the fall of her shells was spread—in fact I noted several things; and then it occurred to me abruptly that I stood a remarkably good chance of having a wall at my back and a handkerchief over my eyes if I lingered in this open road much longer. And the plea that I was enjoying the excellent gun-practice made by H.M.S. Blank would scarcely be accepted as an extenuating circumstance!

I glanced quickly round, and then I realised how wonderfully luck was standing by me. At the summit of that hill there were naturally no houses, and as the descending road on either side made a sharp twist almost immediately, I stood quite invisible on my outlook tower. The road, moreover, ran through a kind of neck, with heather rising on either side; and in a moment I had hauled my cycle up the bank on the landward side, and was out of sight over the edge, even should any traveller appear.

After a few minutes' laborious dragging of my cycle I found myself in a small depression in the heather, where, by lying down, I could remain quite out of sight unless some one walked right into me—and it seemed improbable that any one should take such a promenade with the good road so close at hand. By raising myself on my knees I could command the same engrossing view I had seen from the road, only I now also saw something of the country that sloped down to the sea; and with a thrill of exultation I realised that this prospect actually included our rendezvous.

V.

WAITING.

What I saw when I cautiously peered over the rim of that little hollow was (beginning at the top) a vast expanse of pale-blue sky, with fleecy clouds down near the horizon already tinged with pink reflections from the sunset far off behind my back. Then came a shining glimpse of the North Sea; then a rim of green islands, rising on the right to high heather hills; then the land-locked waters and the grey ships now getting blurred and less distinct; then some portions of the green land that sloped up to where I lay; and among these fields, and not far away from me, the steep roof and gable-top of a grey, old-fashioned house. It was the parish manse, the pacific abode of the professional exponent and exemplar of peace—the parish minister; and yet, curiously enough, it was that house which my eyes devoured.

The single ship had now ceased firing and anchored with her consorts, the fleet had grown too indistinct to note anything of its composition, and there was nothing to distract my attention from the house. I looked at it hard and long and studied the lie of the ground between it and me, and then I lay down on a couch of soft heather and began to think.

So far as I could see I had done nothing yet to draw suspicion to this particular spot, for no one at all seemed to have seen me, but it was manifest that there would be a hard and close hunt for the mysterious motor-cyclist on the morrow. I began to half regret that I had cut that telegraph wire and advertised myself so patently for what I was. Now it was quite obvious that for some days to come motor-cycling would be an unhealthy pastime in these islands. Even at night how many ears would be listening for my "phut-phut-phut," and how many eyes would be scanning the dark roads? A few judiciously placed and very simple barricades—a mere bar on two uprights, with a sentry beside each—and what chance would I have of getting back to that distant bay, especially as I had just been seen so near it?

"However," I said to myself, "that is looking too far ahead. It was not my fault I brought this hornet's nest about my ears. Just bad luck and a clumsy sailor!"

Just then I heard something approaching on the road below me, and in a minute or two it became unmistakably the sound of a horse and trap. At one place I could catch a glimpse of this road between the hummocks of heather, and I raised myself again and looked out. In a moment the horse and trap appeared and I got a sensation I shall not soon forget. Not that there seemed to the casual passer-by anything in the least sensational about this equipage. He would merely have noticed that it contained, besides the driver, a few articles of luggage and a gentleman in a flat-looking felt hat and an overcoat—both of them black. This gentleman was sitting with his back to me (he was in a small waggonette), but I could scarcely doubt who it was. But only arriving to-night!

Curiosity and anxiety so devoured me that I ran a little risk. Getting out of my hollow, I crawled forward on my hands and knees till I could catch a glimpse of the side road leading to that house; and there I lay flat on my face and watched.

Down the steep hill the horse proceeded at a walk, and what between my impatience to make sure, and my consciousness of my own rashness in quitting even for a moment my sheltered hollow, I passed a few very uncomfortable minutes. The light by this time was failing fast, but it was quite clear enough to see (or be seen), and at last I caught one more glimpse of that horse and trap—turning off the road just where I expected. And then I was crawling back with more haste than dignity.

It was "him"! And he had only arrived to-night. If it had not been for my accident, in what a nice dilemma I should have been landed! Never did I bless any one more fervently than that awkward sailor who had let my cycle slip, and as for the wave of salt water which wet it, it seemed to have sprung from the age of miracles.

The trouble of my discovery and its possible consequences still remained, but I thought little enough of that now, so thankful did I feel for what had not happened. And then I stretched myself out again on the heather, waiting with all the patience I could muster for the falling of night.

PART II.

A FEW CHAPTERS BY THE EDITOR

I.

THE PLEASANT STRANGER.

It was in July of that same year that the Rev. Alexander Burnett was abashed to find himself inadvertently conspicuous. He had very heartily permitted himself to be photographed in the centre of a small group of lads from his parish who had heard their country's call and were home in their khaki for a last leave-taking. Moreover, the excellence of the photograph and the undeniably close resemblance of his own portrait to the reflection he surveyed each morning when shaving, had decidedly pleased him. But the appearance of this group, first as an illustration in a local paper and then in one that enjoyed a very wide circulation indeed, embarrassed him not a little. For he was a modest, publicity-avoiding man, and also he felt he ought to have been in khaki too.

Not that Mr Burnett had anything really to reproach himself with, for he was in the forties, some years above military age. But he was a widower without a family, who had already spent fifteen years in a sparsely inhabited parish in the south-east of Scotland not very far from the Border; and ever since he lost his wife had been uneasy in mind and a little morbid, and anxious for change of scene and fresh experiences. He was to get them, and little though he dreamt it, that group was their beginning. Indeed, it would have taken as cunning a brain to scent danger in the trifling incidents with which his strange adventure began as it took to arrange them. And Mr Burnett was not at all cunning, being a simple, quiet man. In appearance he was rather tall, with a clean-shaven, thoughtful face, and hair beginning to turn grey.

A few days later a newspaper arrived by post. He had received several already from well-meaning friends, each with that group in it, and he sighed as he opened this one. It was quite a different paper, however, with no illustrations, but with a certain page indicated in blue pencil, and a blue pencil mark in the margin of that page. What his attention was called to was simply the announcement that the Rev. Mr Maxwell, minister of the parish of Myredale, had been appointed to another charge, and that there was now a vacancy there.

Mr Burnett looked at the wrapper, but his name and address had been typewritten and gave him no clue. He wondered who had sent him the paper, and then his thoughts naturally turned to the vacant parish. He knew that it lay in a certain group of northern islands, which we may call here the Windy Isles, and he presumed that the stipend would not be great. Still, it was probably a better living than his own small parish, and as for its remoteness, well, he liked quiet, out-of-the-way places, and it would certainly be a complete change of scene. He let the matter lie in the back of his mind, and there it would very likely have remained but for a curious circumstance on the following Sunday.

His little parish church was seldom visited by strangers, and when by any chance one did appear, the minister was very quickly conscious of the fact. He always took stock of his congregation during the first psalm, and on this Sabbath his experienced eye had noted a stranger before the end of the opening verse. A pleasant-looking gentleman in spectacles he appeared to be, and of a most exemplary and devout habit of mind. In fact, he hardly once seemed to take his spectacled gaze off the minister's face during the whole service; and Mr Burnett believed in giving his congregation good measure.

It was a fine day, and when service was over the minister walked back to his manse at a very leisurely pace, enjoying the sunshine after a week of showery weather. The road he followed crossed the river, and as he approached the bridge he saw the same stranger leaning over the parapet, smoking a cigar, and gazing at the brown stream. Near him at the side of the road was drawn up a large dark-green touring car, which apparently the gentleman had driven himself, for there was no sign of a chauffeur.

"Good day, sir!" said the stranger affably, as the minister came up to him. "Lovely weather!"

Mr Burnett, nothing loath to hear a fresh voice, stopped and smiled and agreed that the day was fine. He saw now that the stranger was a middle-sized man with a full fair moustache, jovial eyes behind his gold-rimmed spectacles, and a rosy healthy colour; while his manner was friendliness itself. The minister felt pleasantly impressed with him at once.

"Any trout in this stream?" inquired the stranger.

Mr Burnett answered that it was famed as a fishing river, at which the stranger seemed vastly interested and pleased, and put several questions regarding the baskets that were caught. Then he grew a little more serious and said—

"I hope you will pardon me, sir, for thanking you for a very excellent sermon. As I happened to be motoring past just as church was going in I thought I'd look in too. But I assure you I had no suspicion I should hear so good a discourse. I appreciated it highly."

Though a modest man, Mr Burnett granted the stranger's pardon very readily. Indeed, he became more favourably impressed with him than ever.

"I am very pleased to hear you say so," he replied, "for in an out-of-the-way place like this one is apt to get very rusty."

"I don't agree with you at all, sir," said the stranger energetically, "if you'll pardon my saying so. In my experience—which is pretty wide, I may add—the best thinking is done in out-of-the-way places. I don't say the showiest, mind you, but the best!"

Again the minister pardoned him without difficulty.

"Of course, one needs a change now and then, I admit," continued the stranger. "But, my dear sir, whatever you do, don't go and bury yourself in a crowd!"

This struck Mr Burnett as a novel and very interesting way of putting the matter. He forgot all about the dinner awaiting him at the manse, and when the stranger offered him a very promising-looking cigar, he accepted it with pleasure, and leaned over the parapet beside him. There, with his eyes on the running water, he listened and talked for some time.

The stranger began to talk about the various charming out-of-the-way places in Scotland. It seemed he was a perfervid admirer of everything Scottish, and had motored or tramped all over the country from Berwick to the Pentland Firth. In fact, he had even crossed the waters, for he presently burst forth into a eulogy of the Windy Islands.

"The most delightful spot, sir, I have ever visited!" he said enthusiastically. "There is a peacefulness and charm, and at the same time something stimulating in the air I simply can't describe. In body and mind I felt a new man after a week there!"

The minister was so clearly struck by this, and his interest so roused, that the stranger pursued the topic and added a number of enticing details.

"By the way," he exclaimed presently, "do you happen to know a fellow-clergyman there called Maxwell? His parish is—let me see—Ah, Myredale, that's the name."

This struck Mr Burnett as quite extraordinary.

"I don't know him personally," he began.

"A very sensible fellow," continued the stranger impetuously. "He told me his parish was as like heaven as anything on this mortal earth!"

"He has just left it," said Mr Burnett.

The stranger seemed surprised and interested.

"What a chance for some one!" he exclaimed.

Mr Burnett gazed thoughtfully through the smoke of his cigar into the brown water of the river below him.

"I have had thoughts of making a change myself," he said slowly. "But of course they might not select me even if I applied for Myredale."

"In the Scottish Church the custom is to go to the vacant parish to preach a trial sermon, isn't it?" inquired the stranger.

The minister nodded. "A system I disapprove of, I may say," said he.

"I quite agree with you," said the stranger sympathetically. "Still, so long as that is the system, why not try your luck? Mind you, I talk as one who knows the place, and knows Mr Maxwell and his opinion of it. You'll have an enviable visit, whatever happens."

"It is a very long way," said Mr Burnett.

"Don't they pay your expenses!"

"Yes," admitted the minister. "But then I understand that those islands are very difficult for a stranger to enter at present. The naval authorities are extremely strict."

The stranger laughed jovially.

"My dear sir," he cried, "can you imagine even the British Navy standing between a Scotch congregation and its sermon! You are the one kind of stranger who will be admitted. All you have to do is to get a passport—and there you are!"

"Are they difficult to get?"

The stranger laughed again.

"I know nothing about that kind of thing," said he. "I'm a Lancashire lad, and the buzz of machinery is my game; but I can safely say this: that you will have no difficulty in getting a passport."

Mr Burnett again gazed at the water in silence.

Then he looked up and said with a serious face—

"I must really tell you, sir, of a very remarkable coincidence. Only a few days ago some unknown friend sent me a copy of a newspaper with a notice of this very vacancy marked in it!"

The Lancashire lad looked almost thunder-struck by this extraordinary disclosure.

"Well, I'm hanged!" he cried—adding hurriedly, "if you'll forgive my strong language, sir."

"It seems to me to be providential," said Mr Burnett in a low and very serious voice.

With equal solemnity the stranger declared that though not an unusually good man himself, this solution had already struck him forcibly.

At this point the minister became conscious of the distant ringing of a bell, and recognised with a start the strident note of his own dinner bell swung with a vigorous arm somewhere in the road ahead. He shook hands cordially with the stranger, thanked him for the very interesting talk he had enjoyed, and hurried off towards his over-cooked roast.

The stranger remained for a few moments still leaning against the parapet. His jovial face had been wreathed in smiles throughout the whole conversation; he still smiled now, but with rather a different expression.

II.

THE CHAUFFEUR.

Mr Burnett was somewhat slow in coming to decisions, but once he had taken an idea to do a thing he generally carried it out. In the course of a week or ten days he had presented himself as a candidate for the vacant church of Myredale, and made arrangements for appearing in the pulpit there on a certain Sunday in August. He was to arrive in the islands on the Thursday, spend the week-end in the empty manse, preach on Sunday, and return on Monday or Tuesday. His old friend Mr Drummond in Edinburgh, hearing of the plan, invited him to break his journey at his house, arriving on Tuesday afternoon, and going on by the North train on Wednesday night. Accordingly, he arranged to have a trap at the manse on Tuesday afternoon, drive to Berwick and catch the Scotch express, getting into Edinburgh at 6.15.

He was a reticent man, and in any case had few neighbours to gossip with, so that as far as he himself knew, the Drummonds alone had been informed of all these details. But he had in the manse a very valuable domestic, who added to her more ordinary virtues a passion for conversation.

On the Saturday afternoon before he was due to start, he was returning from a walk, when he caught a glimpse of a man's figure disappearing into a small pine wood at the back of his house, and when his invaluable Mary brought him in his tea, he inquired who her visitor had been.

"Oh, sic a nice young felly!" said Mary enthusiastically. "He's been a soger, wounded at Mons he was, and walking to Berwick to look for a job."

Though simple, the minister was not without some sad experience of human nature, particularly the nature of wounded heroes, tramping the country for jobs.

"I hope you didn't give him any money," said he.

"He never askit for money!" cried Mary. "Oh, he was not that kind at a'! A maist civil young chap he was, and maist interested to hear where you were gaun, and sic like."

The minister shook his head.

"You told him when I was leaving, and all about it, I suppose?"

"There was nae secret, was there?" demanded Mary.

Mr Burnett looked at her seriously.

"As like as not," said he; "he just wished to know when the man of the house would be away. Mind and keep the doors locked, Mary, and if he comes back, don't let him into the kitchen whatever cock-and-bull story he tells."

He knew that Mary was a sensible enough woman, and having given her this warning, he forgot the whole incident—till later.

Tuesday was fine and warm, a perfect day on which to start a journey, and about mid-day Mr Burnett was packing a couple of bags with a sense of pleasant anticipation, when a telegram arrived. This was exactly how it ran:—

"My friend Taylor motoring to Edinburgh to-day. Will pick you and luggage up at Manse about six, and bring you to my house. Don't trouble reply, assume this suits, shall be out till late. DRUMMOND."

"There's no answer," said Mr Burnett with a smile.

He was delighted with this change in his programme, and at once countermanded his trap, and ordered Mary to set about making scones and a currant cake for tea.

"This Mr Taylor will surely be wanting his tea before he starts," said he, "though it's likely he won't want to waste too much time over it, or it will be dark long before we get to Edinburgh. So have everything ready, Mary, but just the infusing of the tea."

Then with an easy mind, feeling that there was no hurry now, he sat down to his early dinner. As he dined he studied the telegram more carefully, and it was then that one or two slight peculiarities struck him. They seemed to him very trifling, but they set him wondering and smiling a little to himself.

He knew most of the Drummonds' friends, and yet never before had he heard of an affluent motor-driving Mr Taylor among them. Still, there was nothing surprising about that, for one may make a new friend any day, and one's old friends never hear of him for long enough.

The really unusual features about this telegram were its length and clearness and the elaborate injunctions against troubling to answer it.

Robert Drummond was an excellent and Christian man, but he had never been remarkable for profuse expenditure. In fact, he guarded his bawbees very carefully indeed, and among other judicious precautions he never sent telegrams if he could help it, and when fate forced his hand, kept very rigorously within the twelve-word limit. His telegrams in consequence were celebrated more for their conciseness than their clarity. Yet here he was sending a telegram thirty-four words long, apart from the address and signature, and spending halfpenny after halfpenny with reckless profusion to make every detail explicit!

Particularly curious were the three clauses all devoted to saving Mr Burnett the trouble of replying. Never before had Mr Drummond shown such extraordinary consideration for a friend's purse, and it is a discouraging feature of human nature that even the worthy Mr Burnett felt more puzzled than touched by his generous thoughtfulness.

"Robert Drummond never wrote out that wire himself," he concluded. "He must just have told some one what he wanted to say, and they must have written it themselves. Well, we'll hope they paid for it too, or Robert will be terrible annoyed."

The afternoon wore on, and as six o'clock drew near, the minister began to look out for Mr Taylor and his car. But six o'clock passed, and quarter-past six, and still there was no sign of him. The minister began to grow a little worried lest they should have to do most of the journey in the dark, for he was an inexperienced motorist, and such a long drive by night seemed to him a formidable and risky undertaking.

At last at half-past six the thrum of a car was heard, and a few minutes later a long, raking, dark-green touring car dashed up to the door of the modest manse. The minister hurried out to welcome his guest, and then stopped dead short in sheer astonishment. Mr Taylor was none other than the Lancashire lad.

On his part, Mr Taylor seemed almost equally surprised.

"Well, I'm blowed!" he cried jovially. "If this isn't the most extraordinary coincidence! When I got Robert Drummond's note, and noticed the part of the country you lived in, I wondered if you could possibly be the same minister I'd met; but it really seemed too good to be true! Delighted to meet you again!"

He laughed loud and cheerfully, and wrung the minister's hand like an old friend. Mr Burnett, though less demonstrative, felt heartily pleased, and led his guest cordially into the manse parlour.

"You'll have some tea before you start, I hope?" he inquired.

"Ra-ther!" cried Mr Taylor. "I've a Lancashire appetite for tea! Ha, ha, ha!"

"Well, I'll have it in at once," said the minister, ringing the bell, "for I suppose we ought not to postpone our start too long."

"No hurry at all, my dear fellow," said Mr Taylor, throwing himself into the easiest chair the minister possessed. "I mean to have a jolly good tuck in before I start!"

At that moment Mr Burnett remembered that this time he had seen a chauffeur in the car. He went hospitably out of the room and turned towards the front door. But hardly had he turned in that direction when he heard Mr Taylor call out—

"Hallo! Where are you going?"

And the next moment he was after the minister and had him by the arm just as they reached the open front door. Mr Burnett ever afterwards remembered the curious impression produced on him by the note in Mr Taylor's voice, and that hurried grip of the arm. Suspicion, alarm, a note of anger, all seemed to be blended.

"I—I was only going to ask your driver to come and have a cup of tea in the kitchen," stammered the embarrassed minister.

"My dear sir, he doesn't want any; I've asked him already!" said Mr Taylor. "I assure you honestly I have!"

Mr Burnett suffered himself to be led back wondering greatly. He had caught a glimpse of the chauffeur, a clean-shaven, well-turned-out man, sitting back in his seat with his cap far over his eyes, and even in that hurried glance at part of his face he had been struck with something curiously familiar about the man; though whether he had seen him before, or, if not, who he reminded him of, he was quite unable to say. And then there was Mr Taylor's extraordinary change of manner the very moment he started to see the chauffeur. He could make nothing of it at all, but for some little time afterwards he had a vague sense of disquiet.

Mr Taylor, on his part, had recovered his cheerfulness as quickly as he had lost it.

"Forgive me, my dear Mr Burnett," he said earnestly, yet always with the rich jolly note in his voice. "I must have seemed a perfect maniac. The truth is, between ourselves, I had a terrible suspicion you were going to offer my good James whisky!"

"Oh," said the minister. "Is he then—er—an abstainer?"

Mr Taylor laughed pleasantly.

"I wish he were! A wee drappie is his one failing; ha, ha! I never allow my chauffeur to touch a drop while I'm on the road, Mr Burnett—never, sir!"

Mr Burnett was slow to suspect ill of any one, but he was just as slow in getting rid of a suspicion. With all his simplicity, he could not but think that Mr Taylor jumped extraordinarily quickly to conclusions and got excited on smaller provocation than any one he had ever met. Over his first cup of tea he sat very silent.

In the meantime the sociable Mary had been suffering from a sense of disappointment. Surely the beautiful liveried figure in the car would require his tea and eggs like his master? For a little she sat awaiting his arrival in the kitchen, with her cap neatly arranged, and an expectant smile. But gradually disappointment deepened. She considered the matter judicially. Clearly, she decided, Mr Burnett had forgotten the tradition of hospitality associated with that and every other manse. And then she decided that her own duty was plain.

She went out of the back door and round the house. There stood the car, with the resplendent figure leaning back in his seat, his cap still over his eyes, and his face now resting on his hand, so that she could barely see more than the tip of his nose. He heard nothing of her approach till she was fairly at his side, and in her high and penetrating voice cried—

"Will ye not be for a cup of tea and an egg to it, eh?"

The chauffeur started, and Mary started too. She had seen his face for an instant, though he covered it quickly, but apparently quite naturally, with his hand.

"No, thanks," he said brusquely, and turned away his eyes.

Mary went back to the kitchen divided between annoyance at the rebuff and wonder. The liveried figure might have been the twin-brother of the minister.

III.

ON THE CLIFF.

Gradually Mr Burnett recovered his composure. His guest was so genial and friendly and appreciative of the scones and the currant cake that he began to upbraid himself for churlishness in allowing anything like a suspicion of this pleasant gentleman to linger in his mind. There remained a persistent little shadow which he could not quite drive away, but he conscientiously tried his best. As for Mr Taylor, there never was a jollier and yet a more thoughtful companion. He seemed to think of every mortal thing that the minister could possibly need for his journey.

"Got your passport?" he inquired.

"Yes," said the minister. "I am carrying it in my breast-pocket. It ought to be safe there."

"The safest place possible!" said Mr Taylor cordially. "It's all in order, I presume, eh?"

Mr Burnett took the passport out of his pocket and showed it to him. His guest closely examined the minister's photograph which was attached, went through all the particulars carefully, and pronounced everything in order, as far as an ignorant outsider like himself could judge.

"Of course," he said, "I'm a business man, Mr Burnett, and I can tell when a thing looks businesslike, though I know no more about what the authorities require and why they ask for all these particulars than you do. It's all red tape, I suppose."

As a further precaution he recommended his host to slip a few letters and a receipted bill or two into his pocket-book, so that he would have a ready means of establishing his identity if any difficulty arose. Mr Burnett was somewhat surprised, but accepted his guest's word for it, as a shrewd Lancashire lad, that these little tips were well worth taking.

By this time the evening was falling, and at length Mr Taylor declared himself ready for the road. He had drunk four cups of tea, and hurried over none of them. For a moment Mr Burnett half wondered if he had any reason for delaying their start, but immediately reproached himself for harbouring such a thought. Indeed, why should he think so? There seemed nothing whatever to be gained by delay, with the dusk falling so fast and a long road ahead.

The minister's rug and umbrella and two leather bags were put into the car, he and Mr Taylor got aboard, and off they went at last. Mr Burnett had another glance at the chauffeur, and again was haunted by an odd sense of familiarity; but once they had started, the view of his back in the gathering dusk suggested nothing more explicit.

Presently they passed a corner, and the minister looked round uneasily.

"What road are you taking?" he asked.

"We're going to join the coast road from Berwick," said Mr Taylor.

"Isn't that rather roundabout?"

Mr Taylor laughed jovially.

"My good James has his own ideas," said he. "As a matter of fact, I fancy he knows the coast road and isn't sure of the other. However, we needn't worry about that. With a car like this the difference in time will be a flea-bite!"

He had provided the minister with another excellent cigar, and smoking in comfort behind a glass wind-screen, with the dim country slipping by and the first pale star faintly shining overhead, the pair fell into easy discourse. Mr Taylor was a remarkably sympathetic talker, the minister found. He kept the conversation entirely on his companion's affairs, putting innumerable questions as to his habits and way of life, and indeed his whole history, and exhibiting a flattering interest in his answers. Mr Burnett said to himself at last, with a smile, that this inquiring gentleman would soon know as much about him as he knew himself.

Once or twice the minister wondered how fast they were really going. They did not seem to him to be achieving any very extraordinary speed, but possibly that was only because the big car ran so easily. In fact, when he once questioned his companion, Mr Taylor assured him that actually was the explanation. It was thus pretty dark when they struck the coast road, and it grew ever darker as they ran northward through a bare, treeless country, with the cliff edge never far away and the North Sea glimmering beyond.

They had reached an absolutely lonely stretch of road that hugged the shore closely when the car suddenly stopped.

"Hallo!" exclaimed Mr Taylor, "what's up?"

The chauffeur half-turned round and said in a low voice—

"Did you see that light, sir?"

"Which light?"

The chauffeur pointed to the dark stretch of turf between them and the edge of the cliffs.

"Just there, sir. I saw it flash for a second. I got a glimpse of some one moving too, sir."

Mr Taylor became intensely excited.

"A spy signalling!" he exclaimed.

"Looks like it, sir," said the chauffeur.

Mr Taylor turned to the minister with an eager, resolute air.

"Our duty's clear, Mr Burnett," said he. "As loyal subjects of King George—God bless him!—we've got to have a look into this!"

With that he jumped out and stood by the open door, evidently expecting the minister to follow. For a moment Mr Burnett hesitated. A vague sense that all was not well suddenly affected him. "Do not go!" something seemed to say to him. And yet as a man and a loyal subject how could he possibly decline to assist in an effort to foil the King's enemies? Reluctantly he descended from the car, and once he was on the road, Mr Taylor gave him no time for further debate.

"Come on!" he whispered eagerly; and then turning to the chauffeur, "come along too, James!"

Close by there was a gate in the fence, and they all three went through this and quietly crossed the short stretch of grass between the road and the cliffs, Mr Taylor and the minister walking in front and the chauffeur following close at their heels. Now that the car was silent, they could hear the soft lapping of the water at the cliff foot, but that and the fall of their feet on the short crisp turf were the only sounds.

Mr Burnett peered hard into the darkness, but he could see absolutely nothing. All at once he realised that they were getting very close to the brink, and that if there were any one in front they would certainly be silhouetted against the sky. There could not possibly be any use in going further; why then did they continue to advance? At that a clear and terrifying instinct of danger seized him. He turned round sharply, and uttered one loud ringing cry.

He was looking straight into the chauffeur's face, and it seemed as though he were looking into his own, distorted by murderous intention. Above it the man's hand was already raised. It descended, and the minister fell on the turf with a gasp. He knew no more of that night's adventure.

IV.

MR DRUMMOND'S VISITOR.

Upon a secluded road in the quiet suburb of Trinity stood the residence of Mr Robert Drummond. It was a neat unpretentious little villa graced by a number of trees and a clinging Virginia creeper, and Mr Drummond was a neat unpretentious little gentleman, graced by a number of virtues, and a devoted Mrs Drummond. From the upper windows of his house you could catch a glimpse of the castled and templed hills of Edinburgh on the one side, and the shining Forth and green coasts of Fife on the other. The Forth, in fact, was close at hand, and of late Mr Drummond had been greatly entertained by observing many interesting movements upon its waters.

He had looked forward to exhibiting and expounding these features to his friend Mr Burnett, and felt considerably disappointed when upon the morning of the day when the minister should have come, a telegram arrived instead. It ran—

"Unavoidably prevented from coming to stay with you. Shall explain later. Many regrets. Don't trouble reply. Leaving home immediately.

"BURNETT."

As Mr Drummond studied this telegram he began to feel not only disappointed but a trifle critical.

"Alec Burnett must have come into a fortune!" he said to himself. "Six words—the whole of threepence—wasted in telling me not to reply! As if I'd be spending my money on anything so foolish. I never saw such extravagance!"

On the following morning Mr Drummond was as usual up betimes. He had retired a year or two before from a responsible position in an insurance office, but he still retained his active business habits, and by eight o'clock every morning of the summer was out and busy in his garden. It still wanted ten minutes to eight, and he was just buttoning up his waistcoat when he heard the front-door bell ring. A minute or two later the maid announced that Mr Topham was desirous of seeing Mr Drummond immediately.

"Mr Topham?" he asked.

"He's a Navy Officer, sir," said the maid.

Vaguely perturbed, Mr Drummond hurried downstairs, and found in his study a purposeful-looking young man, with the two zigzag stripes on his sleeve of a lieutenant in the Royal Naval Reserve.

"Mr Drummond?" he inquired.

"The same," said Mr Drummond, firmly yet cautiously.

"You expected a visit from a Mr Burnett yesterday, I believe?"

"I had been expecting him till I got his wire."

"His wire!" exclaimed Lieutenant Topham. "Did he telegraph to you?"

"Yes: he said he couldn't come."

"May I see that telegram?"

Caution had always been Mr Drummond's most valuable asset.

"Is it important?" he inquired.

"Extremely," said the lieutenant a trifle brusquely.

Mr Drummond went to his desk and handed him the telegram. He could see Topham's eyebrows rise as he read it.

"Thank you," he said when he had finished. "May I keep it?"

Without waiting for permission, he put it in his pocket, and with a grave air said—

"I am afraid I have rather serious news to give you about Mr Burnett."

"Dear me!" cried Mr Drummond. "It's not mental trouble, I hope? That was a queer wire he sent me!"

"He didn't send you that wire," said Lieutenant Topham.

"What!" exclaimed Mr Drummond. "Really—you don't say so? Then who did?"

"That's what we've got to find out."

The lieutenant glanced at the door, and added—

"I think we had better come a little farther away from the door."

They moved to the farther end of the room and sat down.

"Mr Burnett has been knocked on the head and then nearly drowned," said the lieutenant.

Mr Drummond cried aloud in horror. Topham made a warning gesture.

"This is not to be talked about at present," he said in a guarded voice. "The facts simply are that I'm in command of a patrol-boat, and last night we were off the Berwickshire coast when we found your friend in the water with a bad wound in his head and a piece of cord tied round his feet."

"You mean some one had tried to murder him?" cried Mr Drummond.

"It looked rather like it," said Topham drily.

"And him a minister too!" gasped Mr Drummond.

"So we found later."

"But you'd surely tell that from his clothes!"

"He had no clothes when we found him."

"No clothes on! Then do you mean——"

"We took him straight back to the base," continued the lieutenant quickly, "and finally he came round and was able to talk a little. Then we learned his name and heard of you, and Captain Blacklock asked me to run up and let you know he was safe, and also get you to check one or two of his statements. Mr Burnett is naturally a little light-headed at present."

Mr Drummond was a persistent gentleman.

"But do you mean you found him with no clothes on right out at sea?"

"No; close under the cliffs."

"Did you see him fall into the water?"

"We heard a cry, and picked him up shortly afterwards," said the lieutenant, rather evasively, Mr Drummond thought.

"However, the main thing is that he will recover all right. You can rest assured he is being well looked after."

"I'd like to know more about this," said Mr Drummond with an air of determination.

"So would we," said Topham drily, "and I'd just like to ask you one or two questions, if I may. Mr Burnett was on his way to the Windy Islands, I believe?"

"He was. He had got all his papers and everything ready to start to-night."

"You feel sure of that?"

"He wrote and told me so himself."

Lieutenant Topham nodded in silence. Then he inquired—

"Do you know a Mr Taylor?"

"Taylor? I know a John Taylor——"

"Who comes from Lancashire and keeps a motor-car?"

"No," said Mr Drummond. "I don't know that one. Why?"

"Then you didn't send a long telegram to Mr Burnett yesterday telling him that Mr Taylor would call for him in his motor-car and drive him to your house?"

"Certainly not!" cried Mr Drummond indignantly. "I never sent a long telegram to any one in my life. I tell you I don't know anything about this Mr Taylor or his motor-car. If Mr Burnett told you that, he's light-headed indeed!"

"Those are merely the questions Captain Blacklock asked me to put," said the lieutenant soothingly.

"Is he the officer in command of the base?" demanded Mr Drummond a little fiercely.

"No," said Topham briefly; "Commander Blacklock is an officer on special service at present."

"Commander!" exclaimed Mr Drummond with a menacing sniff. "But you just called him Captain."

"Commanders get the courtesy title of Captain," explained the lieutenant, rising as he spoke. "Thank you very much, Mr Drummond. There's only one thing more I'd like to say——"

"Ay, but there are several things I'd like to say!" said Mr Drummond very firmly. "I want to know what's the meaning of this outrage to my friend. What's your theory?"

Before the war Lieutenant Topham had been an officer in a passenger liner, but he had already acquired in great perfection the real Navy mask.

"It seems rather mysterious," he replied—in a most unsuitably light and indifferent tone, Mr Drummond considered.

"But surely you have some ideas!"

The Lieutenant shook his head.

"We'll probably get to the bottom of it sooner or later."

"A good deal later than sooner, I'm afraid," said Mr Drummond severely. "You've informed the police, I presume."

"The affair is not in my hands, Mr Drummond."

"Then whose hands is it in?"

"I have not been consulted on that point."

Ever since the war broke out Mr Drummond's views concerning the Navy had been in a state of painful flux. Sometimes he felt a genuine pride as a taxpayer in having provided himself with such an efficient and heroic service; at other times he sadly suspected that his money had been wasted, and used to urge upon all his acquaintance the strong opinion that the Navy should really "do something"—and be quick about it too!

Lieutenant Topham depressed him greatly. There seemed such an extraordinary lack of intelligent interest about the fellow. How differently Nelson would have replied!

"Well, there's one thing I absolutely insist upon getting at the bottom of," he said resolutely. "I am accused of sending a long telegram to Mr Burnett about a Mr Taylor. Now I want to know the meaning of that!"

Lieutenant Topham smiled, but his smile, instead of soothing, merely provoked the indignant householder.

"Neither you nor Mr Burnett are accused of sending telegrams. We only know that you received them."

"Then who sent them, I'd like to know?"

"That, no doubt, will appear in time. I must get back now, Mr Drummond; but I must first ask you not to mention a word to any one of this—in the meantime anyhow."

The householder looked considerably taken aback. He had anticipated making a very pleasant sensation among his friends.

"I—er—of course shall use great discretion——" he began.

Lieutenant Topham shook his head.

"I am directed to ask you to tell nobody."

"Of course Mrs Drummond——"

"Not even Mrs Drummond."

"But this is really very high-handed, sir! Mr Burnett is a very old friend of mine——"

The Lieutenant came a step nearer to him, and said very earnestly and persuasively—

"You have an opportunity, Mr Drummond, of doing a service to your country by keeping absolute silence. We can trust you to do that for England, surely?"

"For Great Britain," corrected Mr Drummond, who was a member of a society for propagating bagpipe music and of another for commemorating Bannockburn,—"well, yes, if you put it like that—Oh, certainly, certainly. Yes, you can trust me, Mr Topham. But—er—what am I to say to Mrs Drummond about your visit?"

"Say that I was sent to ask you to keep your lights obscured," suggested the lieutenant with a smile.

"Capital!" said the householder. "I've warned her several times about the pantry window. That will kill two birds with one stone!"

"Good morning, sir. Thank you very much," said the lieutenant.

Mr Drummond was left in a very divided state of mind regarding the Navy's competence, Mr Burnett's sanity, and his own judgment.

V.

ON THE MAIL BOAT.

A procession came down the long slope at the head of the bay. Each vehicle but one rumbled behind a pair of leisurely horses. That one, a car with a passenger and his luggage, hooted from tail to head of the procession, and vanished in the dust towards the pier. The sea stretched like a sheet of brilliant glass right out across the bay and the firth beyond to the great blue island hills, calm as far as the eye could search it; on the green treeless shores, with their dusty roads and their dykes of flagstones set on edge, there was scarcely enough breeze to stir the grasses. "We shall have a fine crossing," said the passengers in the coaches to one another.

They bent round the corner of the bay and passed the little row of houses, pressed close beneath the high grassy bank, and rumbled on to the pier. The sentries and the naval guard eyed the passengers with professional suspicion as they gathered in a cue to show their passports, and then gradually straggled towards the mail boat. But there was one passenger who was particularly eyed; though if all the glances toward her were prompted by suspicion, it was well concealed. She was a girl of anything from twenty-two to twenty-five, lithe, dressed to a miracle, dark-haired, and more than merely pretty. Her dark eyebrows nearly meeting, her bright and singularly intelligent eyes, her firm mouth and resolute chin, the mixture of thoughtfulness in her expression and decision in her movements, were not the usual ingredients of prettiness. Yet her features were so fine and her complexion so clear, and there was so much charm as well as thought in her expression, that the whole effect of her was delightful. Undoubtedly she was beautiful.

She was clearly travelling alone, and evidently a stranger to those parts. No one on the pier or steamer touched a hat or greeted her, and from her quick looks of interest it was plain that everything was fresh to her. The string of passengers was blocked for a moment on the narrow deck, and just where she paused stood a tall man who had come aboard a minute or two before. He took his eyes discreetly off her face, and they fell upon her bag. There on the label he could plainly read, "Miss Eileen Holland." Then she passed on, and the tall man kept looking after her.

Having piled her lighter luggage on a seat in a very brisk and business-like fashion, Miss Holland strolled across the deck and leaned with her back against the railings and her hands in the pockets of her loose tweed coat, studying with a shrewd glance her fellow-passengers. They included a number of soldiers in khaki, on leave apparently; several nondescript and uninteresting people, mostly female; and the tall man. At him she glanced several times. He was very obviously a clergyman of some sort, in the conventional black felt hat and a long dark overcoat; and yet though his face was not at all unclerical, it seemed to her that he was not exactly the usual type. Then she saw his eyes turn on her again, and she gazed for some minutes at the pier just above their heads.

The cable was cast off and the little steamer backed through the foam of her own wake, and wheeling, set forth for the Isles. For a while Miss Holland watched the green semicircle slowly receding astern and the shining waters opening ahead, and then turned to a more practical matter. Other passengers were eyeing the laden deck-seat.

"I'm afraid my things are in your way," she said, and crossing the deck took up a bag and looked round where to put it.

The clergyman was beside her in a stride.

"Allow me. I'll stow it away for you," he said.

He spoke with a smile, but with an air of complete decision and quiet command, and with a murmur of thanks she yielded the bag almost automatically. As he moved off with it, it struck her that here was a clergyman apparently accustomed to very prompt obedience from his flock.

They had been standing just aft of the deck-house, and with the bag in his hand he passed by this to where a pile of lighter luggage had been arranged on the deck. As he went he looked at the bag curiously, and then before putting it down he glanced over his shoulder. The lady was not in sight, and very swiftly but keenly he studied it more closely. It was a suit-case made of an unusual brown, light material. Turning one end up quickly he read on a little plate this assurance by the makers, "Garantirt echt Vulcanfibre." And then slowly, and apparently rather thoughtfully, he strolled back.

"You'll find it among the other luggage, just beyond the deck-house," he said, and then with an air of sudden thought added, "Perhaps I ought to have put it with your other things, wherever they are."

"I have practically nothing else," said she, "except a trunk in the hold."

"You are travelling very light," he remarked. "That wasn't a very substantial suit-case."

For a moment she seemed to be a little doubtful whether to consider him a somewhat forward stranger. Then she said with a frank smile—

"No; it was made in Germany."

As she spoke he glanced at her with a curious sudden intensity, that might have been an ordinary trick of manner.

"Oh," he said with a smile. "Before the war, I presume?"

"Yes," she answered briefly, and looked round her as though wondering whether she should move.

But the clergyman seemed oblivious to the hint.

"Do you know Germany well?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "Do you?"

He nodded.

"Yes, pretty well—as it was before the war, of course. I had some good friends there at one time."

"So had I," she said.

"All in the past tense now," said he.

"I suppose so," she answered; "yet I sometimes find it hard to believe that they are all as poisoned against England and as ignorant and callous as people think. I can't picture some of my friends like that!"

She seemed to have got over her first touch of resentment. There was certainly an air of good-breeding and even of distinction about the man, and after all, his extreme assurance sat very naturally on him. It had an unpremeditated matter-of-course quality that made it difficult to remain offended.

"It is hard to picture a good many things," he said thoughtfully. "Were you long in Germany?"

She told him two years, and then questioned him in return; but he seemed to have a gift for conveying exceedingly little information with an air of remarkable finality—as though he had given a complete report and there was an end of it. On the other hand, he had an equal gift for putting questions in a way that made it impossible not to answer without churlishness. For his manner never lacked courtesy, and he showed a flattering interest in each word of her replies. She felt that she had never met a man who had put her more on her mettle and made her instinctively wish more to show herself to advantage.

Yet she seemed fully capable of holding her own, for after half an hour's conversation it would have been remarkably difficult to essay a biographical sketch of Miss Eileen Holland. She had spent a number of years abroad, and confessed to being a fair linguist; she was going to the Islands "to stay with some people"; and she had previously done "a little" war work—so little, apparently, that she had been advised to seek a change of air, as her companion observed with a smile.

"Anyhow, I have not done enough," she said with a sudden intensity of suppressed feeling in her voice.

The keen-faced clergyman glanced at her quickly, but said nothing. A minute or two later he announced that he had some correspondence to look over, and thereupon he left her with the same air of decision instantly acted on with which he had first addressed her. He passed through the door of the deck-house, and she got a glimpse of his head going down the companion. Her face remained quite composed, but in her eyes there seemed to be the trace of a suggestion that she was unused to see gentlemen quit her side quite so promptly.

A few minutes later she went down herself to the ladies' cabin. Coming out, the foot of the companion was immediately opposite, and beyond stretched the saloon. At the far end of this sat the clergyman, and at the sight of him Miss Holland paused for a moment at the foot of the ladder and looked at him with a face that seemed to show both a little amusement and a little wonder. He sat quite by himself, with a bundle of papers on the table at his elbow. One of these was in his hand, and he was reading it with an air of extraordinary concentration. He had carelessly pushed back his black felt hat, and what arrested her was the odd impression this produced. With his hat thus rakishly tilted, all traces of his clerical profession seemed mysteriously to have vanished. The white dog-collar was there all right, but unaided it seemed singularly incapable of making him into a conventional minister. Miss Holland went up on deck rather thoughtfully. The little mail boat was now far out in the midst of a waste of waters. The ill-omened tideway was on its best behaviour; but even so, there was a constant gentle roll as the oily swell swung in from the Atlantic. Ahead, on the starboard bow, loomed the vast island precipices; astern the long Scottish coast faded into haze. One other vessel alone was to be seen—a long, low, black ship with a single spike of a mast and several squat funnels behind it. An eccentric vessel this seemed; for she first meandered towards the mail boat and then meandered away again, with no visible business on the waters.

The girl moved along the deck till she came to the place where her suit-case had been stowed. Close beside it were two leather kit-bags, and as she paused there it was on these that her eyes fell. She looked at them, in fact, very attentively. On each were the initials "A.B.", and on their labels the legend, "The Rev. Alex. Burnett." She came a step nearer and studied them still more closely. A few old luggage-labels were still affixed, and one at least of these bore the word "Berwick." Miss Holland seemed curiously interested by her observations.

A little later the clergyman reappeared, and approached her like an old acquaintance. By this time they were running close under the cliffs, and they gazed together up to the dizzy heights a thousand feet above their heads, where dots of sea-birds circled hardly to be distinguished by the eye, and then down to the green swell and bursting foam at the foot of that stupendous wall. In the afternoon sun it glowed like a wall of copper. For a few minutes both were instinctively silent. There was nothing to be said of such a spectacle.

Then Miss Holland suddenly asked—

"Do you live near the sea?"

"Not very," he answered with his air of finality.

But this time she persisted.

"What is your part of the country?"

"Berwickshire," he said briefly.

"Do you happen to know a minister there—a Mr Burnett?" she inquired.

"That is my own name," he said quietly.

"Mr Alexander Burnett?"

He nodded.

"That is very funny," she said. "There must be two of you. I happen to have stayed in those parts and met the other."

There seemed to be no expression at all in his eyes as they met hers; nor did hers reveal anything. Then he looked round them quietly. There were several passengers not far away.

"It would be rather pleasant in the bows," he suggested. "Shall we move along there for a little?"

He made the proposal very courteously, and yet it sounded almost as much a command as a suggestion, and he began to move even as he spoke. She started too, and exchanging a casual sentence as they went, they made their way forward till they stood together in the very prow with the bow wave beneath their feet, and the air beating cold upon their faces,—a striking solitary couple.

"I'm wondering if yon's a married meenister!" said one of their fellow-passengers—a facetious gentleman.

"It's no' his wife, anyhow!" grinned his friend.

A little later the wit wondered again.

"I'm wondering how long thae two are gaun tae stand there!" he said this time.

The cliffs fell and a green sound opened. The mail boat turned into the sound, opening inland prospects all the while. A snug bay followed the sound, with a little grey-gabled town clinging to the very wash of the tide, and a host of little vessels in the midst. Into the bay pounded the mail boat and up towards the town, and only then did the gallant minister and his fair acquaintance stroll back from the bows. The wag and his friend looked at them curiously, but they had to admit that such a prolonged flirtation had seldom left fewer visible traces. They might have been brother and sister, they both looked so indifferent.

The gangway shot aboard, and with a brief hand-shake the pair parted. A few minutes later Miss Holland was being greeted by an elderly gentleman in a heavy ulster, whilst the minister was following a porter towards a small waggonette.

VI.

THE VANISHING GOVERNESS.

The house of Breck was a mansion of tolerable antiquity as mansions went in the islands, and several curious stories had already had time to encrust it, like lichen on an aged wall. But none of them were stranger than the quite up-to-date and literally true story of the vanishing governess.

Richard Craigie, Esq., of Breck, the popular, and more or less respected, laird of the mansion and estate, was a stout grey-bearded gentleman, with a twinkling blue eye, and one of the easiest-going dispositions probably in Europe. His wife, the respected, and more or less popular, mistress of the mansion, was lean and short, and very energetic. Their sons were employed at present like everybody else's sons, and do not concern this narrative. But their two daughters, aged fifteen and fourteen, were at home, and do concern it materially.

It was only towards the end of July that Mrs Craigie thought of having a governess for the two girls during the summer holidays. With a letter in her hand, she bustled into Mr Craigie's smoking-room, and announced that her friend Mrs Armitage, in Kensington, knew a lady who knew a charming and well-educated girl—

"And who does she know?" interrupted her husband.

"Nobody," said Mrs Craigie. "She is the girl."

"Oh!" said the laird. "Now I thought that she would surely know another girl who knows a woman, who knows a man——"

"Richard!" said his wife. "Kindly listen to me!"

It had been her fate to marry a confirmed domestic humourist, but she bore her burden stoically. She told him now simply and firmly that the girl in question required a holiday, and that she proposed to give her one, and in return extract some teaching and supervision for their daughters.

"Have it your own way, my dear. Have it your own way," said he. "It was economy yesterday. It's a governess to-day. Have you forced the safe?"

"Which safe?" demanded the unsuspecting lady.

"At the bank. I've no more money of my own, I can tell you. However, send for your governess—get a couple of them as you're at it!"

The humourist was clearly so pleased with his jest that no further debate was to be apprehended, and his wife went out to write the letter. Mr Craigie lit his sixteenth pipe since breakfast and chewed the cud of his wit very happily.

A fortnight later he returned one evening in the car, bringing Miss Eileen Holland, with her trunk and her brown suit-case.

"My hat, Selina!" said he to his wife, as soon as the girls had led Miss Holland out of hearing, "that's the kind of governess for me! You don't mind my telling her to call me Dick, do you? It slipped out when she was squeezing my hand."

"I don't mind you're being undignified," replied Mrs Craigie in a chilly voice, "but I do wish you wouldn't be vulgar."

As Mr Craigie's chief joys in life were entertaining his daughters and getting a rise out of his wife, and as he also had a very genuine admiration for a pretty face, he was in the seventh heaven of happiness, and remained there for the next three days. Pipe in mouth, he invaded the schoolroom constantly and unseasonably, and reduced his daughters to a state of incoherent giggling by retailing to Miss Holland various ingenious schemes for their corporal punishment, airing humorous fragments of a language he called French, and questioning their instructor on suppositious romantic episodes in her career. He thought Miss Holland hardly laughed as much as she ought; still, she was a fine girl.

At table he kept his wife continually scandalised by his jocularities; such as hoarsely whispering, "I've lost my half of the sixpence, Miss Holland," or repeating, with a thoughtful air, "Under the apple-tree when the moon rises—I must try and not forget the hour!" Miss Holland was even less responsive to these sallies, but he enjoyed them enormously himself, and still maintained she was a fine girl.

Mrs Craigie's opinion of her new acquisition was only freely expressed afterwards, and then she declared that clever though Miss Holland undoubtedly was, and superior though she seemed, she had always suspected that something was a little wrong somewhere. She and Mr Craigie had used considerable influence and persuasion to obtain a passport for her, and why should they have been called upon to do this (by a lady whom Mrs Armitage admitted she had only met twice), simply to give a change of air to a healthy-looking girl? There was something behind that. Besides, Miss Holland was just a trifle too good-looking. That type always had a history.

"My wife was plain Mrs Craigie before the thing happened," observed her husband with a twinkle, "but, dash it, she's been Mrs Solomon ever since!"

It was on the fourth morning of Miss Holland's visit that the telegram came for her. Mr Craigie himself brought it into the schoolroom and delivered it with much facetious mystery. He noticed that it seemed to contain a message of some importance, and that she failed to laugh at all when he offered waggishly to put "him" up for the night. But she simply put it in her pocket and volunteered no explanation. He went away feeling that he had wasted a happy quip.

After lunch Mrs Craigie and the girls were going out in the car, and Miss Holland was to have accompanied them. It was then that she made her only reference to the telegram. She had got a wire, she said, and had a long letter to write, and so begged to be excused. Accordingly the car went off without her.

Not five minutes later Mr Craigie was smoking a pipe and trying to summon up energy to go for a stroll, when Miss Holland entered the smoking-room. He noticed that she had never looked so smiling and charming.

"Oh, Mr Craigie," she said, "I want you to help me. I'm preparing a little surprise!"

"For the girls?"

"For all of you!"

The laird loved a practical jest, and scented happiness at once.

"I'm your man!" said he. "What can I do for you?"

"I'll come down again in half an hour," said she. "And then I want you to help me to carry something."

She gave him a swift bewitching smile that left him entirely helpless, and hurried from the room.

Mr Craigie looked at the clock and decided that he would get his stroll into the half-hour, so he took his stick and sauntered down the drive. On one side of this drive was a line of huddled wind-bent trees, and at the end was a gate opening on the highroad, with the sea close at hand. Just as he got to the gate a stranger appeared upon the road, walking very slowly, and up to that moment concealed by the trees. He was a clergyman, tall, clean-shaved, and with what the laird afterwards described as a "hawky kind of look."

There was no haughtiness whatever about the laird of Breck. He accosted every one he met, and always in the friendliest way.

"A fine day!" said he heartily. "Grand weather for the crops, if we could just get a wee bit more of rain soon."

The clergyman stopped.

"Yes, sir," said he, "it is fine weather."

His manner was polite, but not very hearty, the laird thought. However, he was not easily damped, and proceeded to contribute several more observations, chiefly regarding the weather prospects, and tending to become rapidly humorous. And then he remembered his appointment in the smoking-room.

"Well," said he, "good day to you! I must be moving, I'm afraid."

"Good day," said the stranger courteously, and moved off promptly as he spoke.

"I wonder who will that minister be?" said Mr Craigie to himself as he strolled back. "It's funny I never saw the man before. And I wonder, too, where he was going?"

And then it occurred to him as an odd circumstance that the minister had started to go back again, not to continue as he had been walking.

"That's a funny thing," he thought.

He had hardly got back to his smoking-room when Miss Holland appeared, dressed to go out, in hat and tweed coat, and dragging, of all things, her brown suit-case. It seemed to be heavily laden.

She smiled at him confidentially, as one fellow-conspirator at another.

"Do you mind giving me a hand with this?" said she.

"Hullo!" cried the laird. "What's this—an elopement? Can you not wait till I pack my things too? The minister's in no hurry. I've just been speaking to him."

It struck him that Miss Holland took his jest rather seriously.

"The minister?" said she in rather an odd voice. "You've spoken to him?"

"He was only asking if I had got the licence," winked Mr Craigie.

The curious look passed from her face, and she laughed as pleasantly as he could wish.

"I'll take the bag myself," said the laird. "Oh, it's no weight for me. I used to be rather a dab at throwing the hammer in my day. But where am I to take it?"

"I'll show you," said she.

So out they set, Mr Craigie carrying the suit-case, and Miss Holland in the most delightful humour beside him. He felt he could have carried it for a very long way. She led him through the garden and out into a side lane between the wall and a hedge.

"Just put it down here," she said. "And now I want you to come back for something else, if you don't mind."

"Mind?" said the laird gallantly. "Not me! But I'm wondering what you are driving at."

She only smiled, but from her merry eye he felt sure that some very brilliant jest was afoot, and he joked away pleasantly as they returned to the house.

"Now," she said, "do you mind waiting in the smoking-room for ten minutes or so?"

She went out, and Mr Craigie waited, mystified but happy. He waited for ten minutes; he waited for twenty, he waited for half an hour, and still there was no sign of the fascinating Miss Holland. And then he sent a servant to look for her. Her report gave Mr Craigie the strongest sensation that had stirred that good-natured humourist for many a day. Miss Holland was not in her room, and no more, apparently, were her belongings. The toilette table was stripped, the wardrobe was empty; in fact, the only sign of her was her trunk, strapped and locked.

Moving with exceptional velocity, Mr Craigie made straight for the lane beyond the garden. The brown suit-case had disappeared.

"Well, I'm jiggered!" murmured the baffled humourist.

Very slowly and soberly he returned to the house, lit a fresh pipe, and steadied his nerves with a glass of grog. When Mrs Craigie returned, she found him sufficiently revived to jest again, though in a minor key.

"To think of the girl having the impudence to make me carry her luggage out of the house for her!" said he. "Gad, but it was a clever dodge to get clear with no one suspecting her! Well, anyhow, my reputation is safe again at last, Selina."

"Your reputation!" replied Mrs Craigie in a withering voice. "For what? Not for common-sense anyhow!"

"You're flustered, my dear," said the laird easily. "It's a habit women get into terrible easy. You should learn a lesson from Miss Eileen Holland. Dashed if I ever met a cooler hand in my life!"

"And what do you mean to do about it?" demanded his wife.

"Do?" asked Mr Craigie, mildly surprised. "Well, we might leave the pantry window open at night, so that she can get in again if she's wanting to; or——"

"It's your duty to inform the authorities, Richard!"

"Duty?" repeated the laird, still more surprised. "Fancy me starting to do my duty at my time of life!"

"Anyhow," cried Mrs Craigie, "we've still got her trunk!"

"Ah," said Mr Craigie, happily at last, "so we have! Well, that's all right then."

And with a benign expression the philosopher contentedly lit another pipe.

PART III.

LIEUTENANT VON BELKE'S NARRATIVE RESUMED

I.

THE MEETING.

As the dusk rapidly thickened and I lay in the heather waiting for the signal, I gave myself one last bit of good advice. Of "him" I was to meet, I had received officially a pretty accurate description, and unofficially heard one or two curious stories. I had also, of course, had my exact relationship to him officially defined. I was to be under his orders, generally speaking; but in purely naval matters, or at least on matters of naval detail, my judgment would be accepted by him. My last word of advice to myself simply was to be perfectly firm on any such point, and permit no scheme to be set afoot, however tempting, unless it was thoroughly practical from the naval point of view.

From the rim of my hollow there on the hillside I could see several of the farms below me, as well as the manse, and I noted one little sign of British efficiency—no glimmer of light shown from any of their windows. At sea a light or two twinkled intermittently, and a searchlight was playing, though fortunately not in my direction. Otherwise land and water were alike plunged in darkness. And then at last one single window of the manse glowed red for an instant. A few seconds passed, and it shone red again. Finally it showed a brighter yellow light twice in swift succession.

I rose and very carefully led my cycle over the heather down to the road, and then, still pushing it, walked quickly down the steep hill to where the side road turned off. There was not a sound save my footfall as I approached the house. A dark mass loomed in front of me, which I saw in a moment to be a garden wall with a few of the low wind-bent island trees showing above it. This side road led right up to an iron gate in the wall, and just as I got close enough to distinguish the bars, I heard a gentle creak and saw them begin to swing open. Beyond, the trees overarched the drive, and the darkness was profound. I had passed between the gate-posts before I saw or heard anything more. And then a quiet voice spoke.

"It is a dark night," it said in perfect English.

"Dark as pitch," I answered.

"It was darker last night," said the voice.

"It is dark enough," I answered.

Not perhaps a very remarkable conversation, you may think; but I can assure you my fingers were on my revolver, just in case one single word had been different. Now I breathed freely at last.

"Herr Tiel?" I inquired.

"Mr Tiel," corrected the invisible man beside me.

I saw him then for the first time as he stepped out from the shelter of the trees and closed the gate behind me—a tall dim figure in black.

"I'll lead your cycle," he said in a low voice, as he came back to me; "I know the way best."

He took it from me, and as we walked side by side towards the house he said—

"Permit me, Mr Belke, to give you one little word of caution. While you are here, forget that you can talk German! Think in English, if you can. We are walking on a tight-rope, not on the pavement. No precaution is excessive!"

"I understand," I said briefly.

There was in his voice, perfectly courteous though it was, a note of command which made one instinctively reply briefly—and obediently. I felt disposed to be favourably impressed with my ally.

He left me standing for a moment in the drive while he led my motor-cycle round to some shed at the back, and then we entered the house by the front door.

"My servant doesn't spend the night here," he explained, "so we are safe enough after dark, as long as we make no sound that can be heard outside."

It was pitch-dark inside, and only when he had closed and bolted the front door behind us, did Tiel flash his electric torch. Then I saw that we stood in a small porch which opened into a little hall, with a staircase facing us, and a passage opening beside it into the back of the house. At either side was a door, and Tiel opened that on the right and led me into a pleasant, low, lamp-lit room with a bright peat fire blazing and a table laid for supper. I learned afterwards that the clergyman who had just vacated the parish had left hurriedly, and that his books and furniture had not yet followed him. Hence the room, and indeed the whole house, looked habitable and comfortable.

"This is the place I have been looking for for a long time!" I cried cheerfully, for indeed it made a pleasant contrast to a ruinous farm or the interior of a submarine.

Tiel smiled. He had a pleasant smile, but it generally passed from his face very swiftly, and left his expression cool, alert, composed, and a trifle dominating.

"You had better take off your overalls and begin," he said. "There is an English warning against conversation between a full man and a fasting. I have had supper already."

When I took off my overalls, I noticed that he gave me a quick look of surprise.

"In uniform!" he exclaimed.

"It may not be much use if I'm caught," I laughed, "but I thought it a precaution worth taking."

"Excellent!" he agreed, and he seemed genuinely pleased. "It was very well thought of. Do you drink whisky-and-soda?"

"You have no beer?"

He smiled and shook his head.

"I am a Scottish divine," he said, "and I am afraid my guests must submit to whisky. Even in these little details it is well to be correct."

For the next half-hour there was little conversation. To tell you the truth I was nearly famished, and had something better to do than talk. Tiel on his part opened a newspaper, and now and then read extracts aloud. It was an English newspaper, of course, and I laughed once or twice at its items. He smiled too, but he did not seem much given to laughter. And all the while I took stock of my new acquaintance very carefully.

In appearance Adolph Tiel was just as he had been described to me, and very much as my imagination had filled in the picture: a man tall, though not very tall, clean-shaved, rather thin, decidedly English in his general aspect, distinctly good-looking, with hair beginning to turn grey, and cleverness marked clearly in his face. What I had not been quite prepared for was his air of good-breeding and authority. Not that there was any real reason why these qualities should have been absent, but as a naval officer of a country whose military services have pretty strong prejudices, I had scarcely expected to find in a secret-service agent quite this air.

Also what I had heard of Tiel had prepared me to meet a gentleman in whom cleverness was more conspicuous than dignity. Even those who professed to know something about him had admitted that he was a bit of a mystery. He was said to come either from Alsace or Lorraine, and to be of mixed parentage and the most cosmopolitan experience. One story had it that he served at one period of his very diverse career in the navy of a certain South American State, and this story I very soon came to the conclusion was correct, for he showed a considerable knowledge of naval affairs. Even when he professed ignorance of certain points, I was inclined to suspect he was simply trying to throw doubt upon the reports which he supposed I had heard, for rumour also said that he had quitted the service of his adopted country under circumstances which reflected more credit on his brains than his honesty.

In fact, my informants were agreed that Herr Tiel's brains were very remarkable indeed, and that his nerve and address were equal to his ability. He was undoubtedly very completely in the confidence of my own Government, and I could mention at least two rather serious mishaps that had befallen England which were credited to him by people who certainly ought to have known the facts.

Looking at him attentively as he sat before the fire studying 'The Scotsman' (the latest paper to be obtained in those parts), I thought to myself that here was a man I should a very great deal sooner have on my side than against me. If ever I had seen a wolf in sheep's clothing, it seemed to me that I beheld one now in the person of Adolph Tiel, attired as a Scottish clergyman, reading a solid Scottish newspaper over the peat fire of this remote and peaceful manse. And, to complete the picture, there sat I arrayed in a German naval uniform, with the unsuspecting Grand Fleet on the other side of those shuttered and curtained windows. The piquancy of the whole situation struck me so forcibly that I laughed aloud.

Tiel looked up and laid down his paper, and his eyebrows rose inquiringly. He was not a man who wasted many words.

"We are a nice pair!" I exclaimed.

I seemed to read approval of my spirit in his eye.

"You seem none the worse of your adventures," he said with a smile.

"No thanks to you!" I laughed.

Again he gave me that keen look of inquiry.

"I landed on this infernal island last night!" I explained.

"The deuce you did!" said he. "I was afraid you might, but as things turned out I couldn't get here sooner. What did you do with yourself?"

"First give me one of those cigars," I said, "and then I'll tell you."

He handed me the box of cigars and I drew up an easy-chair on the other side of the fire. And then I told him my adventures, and as I was not unwilling that this redoubtable adventurer should see that he had a not wholly unworthy accomplice, I told them in pretty full detail. He was an excellent listener, I must say that for him. With an amused yet appreciative smile, putting in now and then a question shrewd and to the point, he heard my tale to the end. And then he said in a quiet manner which I already realised detracted nothing from the value of his approval—

"You did remarkably well, Mr Belke. I congratulate you."

"Thank you, Mr Tiel," I replied. "And now may I ask you your adventures?"

"Certainly," said he. "I owe you an explanation."

II.

TIEL'S STORY.

"How much do you know of our scheme?" asked Tiel.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Merely that you were going to impersonate a clergyman who was due to come here and preach this next Sunday. How you were going to achieve this feat I wasn't told."

He leaned back in his chair and sucked at his pipe, and then he began his story with a curious detached air, as though he were surveying his own handiwork from the point of view of an impartial connoisseur.

"The idea was distinctly ingenious," said he, "and I think I may also venture to claim for it a little originality. I won't trouble you with the machinery by which we learn things. It's enough to mention that among the little things we did learn was the fact that the minister of this parish had left for another charge, and that the parishioners were choosing his successor after the Scottish custom—by hearing a number of candidates each preach a trial sermon." He broke off and asked, "Do you happen to have heard of Schumann?"

"You don't mean the great Schumann?"

"I mean a certain gentleman engaged in the same quiet line of business as myself. He is known of course under another name in England, where he is considered a very fine specimen of John Bull at his best—a jovial, talkative, commercial gentleman with nice spectacles like Mr Pickwick, who subscribes to all the war charities and is never tired of telling his friends what he would do with the Kaiser if he caught him."

I laughed aloud at this happy description of a typical John Bull.

"Well," he continued, "I suggested to Schumann the wild idea—as it seemed to us at first—of getting into the islands in the guise of a candidate for the parish of Myredale. Two days later Schumann came to me with his spectacles twinkling with excitement.

"'Look at this!' said he.

"He showed me a photograph in an illustrated paper. It was the portrait of a certain Mr Alexander Burnett, minister of a parish in the south of Scotland, and I assure you that if the name 'Adolph Tiel' had been printed underneath, none of my friends would have questioned its being my own portrait.

"'The stars are fighting for us!' said Schumann.

"'They seem ready to enlist,' I agreed.

"'How shall we encourage them?' said he.

"'I shall let you know to-morrow,' I said.

"I went home and thought over the problem. From the first I was convinced that the only method which gave us a chance of success was for this man Burnett to enter voluntarily as a candidate, make all the arrangements himself—including the vital matter of a passport—and finally start actually upon his journey. Otherwise, no attempt to impersonate him seemed to me to stand any chance of success.

"Next day I saw Schumann and laid down these conditions, and we set about making preliminary inquiries. They were distinctly promising. Burnett's parish was a poor one, and from what we could gather, he had already been thinking for some time past of making a change.

"We began by sending him anonymously a paper containing a notice of the vacancy here. That of course was just to set him thinking about it. The next Sunday Schumann motored down to his parish, saw for himself that the resemblance to me was actually quite remarkable, and then after service made the minister's acquaintance. Imagine the good Mr Burnett's surprise and interest when this pleasant stranger proved to be intimately acquainted with the vacant parish of Myredale, and described it as a second Garden of Eden! Before they parted Schumann saw that the fish was hooked.

"The next problem was how to make the real Burnett vanish into space, and substitute the false Burnett without raising a trace of suspicion till my visit here was safely over. Again luck was with us. We sent an agent down to make inquiries of his servant a few days before he started, and found that he was going to spend a night with a friend in Edinburgh on his way north."

Tiel paused to knock the ashes out of his pipe, and I remarked—

"At first sight I confess that seems to me to complicate the problem. You would have to wait till Burnett had left Edinburgh, wouldn't you?"

Tiel smiled and shook his head.

"That is what we thought ourselves at first," said he, "but our second thoughts were better. What do you think of a wire to Burnett from his friend in Edinburgh telling him that a Mr Taylor would call for him in his motor-car: plus a wire to the friend in Edinburgh from Mr Burnett regretting that his visit must be postponed?"

"Excellent!" I laughed.

"Each wire, I may add, contained careful injunctions not to reply. And I may also add that the late Mr Burnett was simplicity itself."

I started involuntarily.

"The 'late' Mr Burnett! Do you mean——"

"What else could one do with him?" asked Tiel calmly. "Both Schumann and I believe in being thorough."

Of course this worthy pair were but doing their duty. Still I was glad to think they had done their dirty work without my assistance, It was with a conscious effort that I was able to ask calmly—

"How did you manage it?"

"Mr Taylor, with his car and his chauffeur, called at the manse. The chauffeur remained in the car, keeping his face unostentatiously concealed. Mr Taylor enjoyed the minister's hospitality till the evening had sufficiently fallen. Then we took him to Edinburgh by the coast road."

Tiel paused and looked at me, as though to see how I was enjoying the gruesome tale. I am afraid I made it pretty clear that I was not enjoying it in the least. The idea of first partaking of the wretched man's hospitality, and then coolly murdering him, was a little too much for my stomach. Tiel, however, seemed rather amused than otherwise with my attitude.

"We knocked him on the head at a quiet part of the road, stripped him of every stitch of clothing, tied a large stone to his feet, and pitched him over the cliff," he said calmly.

"And his clothes——," I began, shrinking back a little in my chair.

"Are these," said Tiel, indicating his respectable-looking suit of black.

Curiously enough this was the only time I heard the man tell a tale of this sort, and in this diabolical, deliberate, almost flippant way. It was in marked contrast to his usually brief, concise manner of speaking. Possibly it was my reception of his story that discouraged him from exhibiting this side of his nature again. I certainly made no effort to conceal my distaste now.

"Thank God, I am not in the secret service!" I said devoutly.

"I understand you are in the submarine service," said Tiel in a dry voice.

"I am—and I am proud of it!"

"Have you never fired a torpedo at an inoffensive merchant ship?"

"That is very different!" I replied hotly.

"It is certainly more wholesale," said he.

I sprang up.

"Mr Tiel," I said, "kindly understand that a German naval officer is not in the habit of enduring affronts to his service!"

"But you think a German secret-service agent should have no such pride?" he inquired.

"I decline to discuss the question any further," I said stiffly.

For a moment he seemed exceedingly amused. Then he saw that I was in no humour for jesting on the subject, and he ceased to smile.

"Have another cigar?" he said, in a quiet matter-of-fact voice, just as though nothing had happened to ruffle the harmony of the evening.

"You quite understand what I said?" I demanded in an icy voice.

"I thought the subject was closed," he replied with a smile, and then jumping up he laid his hand on my arm in the friendliest fashion. "My dear Belke," said he, "we are going to be shut up together in this house for several days, and if we begin with a quarrel we shall certainly end in murder. Let us respect one another's point of view, and say no more about it."

"I don't know what you mean by 'one another's point of view,'" I answered politely but coldly. "So far as I am aware there is only one point of view, and I have just stated it. If we both respect that, there will be no danger of our quarrelling."

He glanced at me for a moment in an odd way, and then said merely—

"Well, are you going to have another cigar, or would you like to go to bed?"

"With your permission I shall go to bed," I said.

He conducted me through the hall and down the passage that led to the back premises. At the end rose a steep and narrow stair. We ascended this, and at the top found a narrow landing with a door at either end of it.

"This is your private flat," he explained in a low voice. "The old house, you will see, has been built in two separate instalments, which have separate stairs and no communication with one another on the upper landing. These two rooms are supposed to be locked up and not in use at present, but I have secured their keys."

He unlocked one of the doors, and we entered the room. It was square, and of quite a fair size. On two sides the walls sloped attic-wise, in a third was a fireplace and a window, and in the fourth two doors—the second opening into a large cupboard. This room had simple bedroom furniture, and also a small table and a basket chair. When we entered, it was lit only by a good fire, and pervaded by a pleasant aroma of peat smoke. Tiel lighted a paraffin lamp and remarked—

"You ought to be quite comfortable here."

Personally, I confess that my breath was fairly taken away. I had anticipated sleeping under the roof in some dark and chilly garret, or perhaps in the straw of an outhouse.

"Comfortable!" I exclaimed. "Mein Gott, who would not be on secret service! But are you sure all this is safe? This fire, for instance—the smoke surely will be seen."

"I have promised to keep the bedrooms aired while I am staying here," smiled Tiel.

He then explained in detail the arrangements of our remarkable household. He himself slept in the front part of the house, up the other staircase. The room opposite mine was empty, and so was the room underneath; but below the other was the kitchen, and I was warned to be very quiet in my movements. The single servant arrived early in the morning, and left about nine o'clock at night: she lived, it seemed, at a neighbouring farm; and Tiel assured me there was nothing to be feared from her provided I was reasonably careful.

I had brought with me a razor, a toothbrush, and a brush and comb, and Tiel had very thoughtfully brought a spare sleeping suit and a pair of slippers. I was not at all sure that I was disposed to like the man, but I had to admit that his thoroughness and his consideration for my comfort were highly praiseworthy. In fact, I told him so frankly, and we parted for the night on friendly terms.

Tiel quietly descended the stairs, while I sat down before my fire and smoked a last cigarette, and then very gratefully turned into my comfortable bed.

III.

THE PLAN.

I slept like a log, and only awakened when Tiel came into my room next morning, bringing my breakfast on a tray. He had sent the servant over to the farm for milk, he explained, and while I ate he sat down beside my bed.

"Can you talk business now?" I asked.

"This afternoon," said he.

I made a grimace.

"I naturally don't want to waste my time," I observed.

"You won't," he assured me.

"But why this afternoon rather than this morning? You can send the servant out for a message whenever you choose."

"I hope to have a pleasant little surprise for you in the afternoon."

I was aware of the fondness of these secret-service agents for a bit of mystery, and I knew I had to humour him. But really it seems a childish kind of vanity.

"There is one thing you can do for me," I said. "If I am to kick up my heels in this room all day—and probably for several days—I must have a pen and ink and some foolscap."

After his fashion he asked no questions but merely nodded, and presently brought them.

The truth was, I had conceived the idea of writing some account of my adventure, and in fact I am writing these lines now in that very bedroom I have described. I am telling a story of which I don't know the last chapter myself. A curious position for an author! If I am caught—well, it will make no difference. I have given nothing away that won't inevitably be discovered if I am arrested. And, mein Gott, what a relief it has been! I should have died of boredom otherwise.

If only my window looked out to sea! But, unluckily, I am at the back of the house and look, as it were sideways, on to a sloping hillside of green ferns below and brown heather at the top. By opening the window and putting my head right out, I suppose I should catch a glimpse of the sea, but then my neighbours would catch a glimpse of me. I expostulated with Tiel as soon as I realised how the room faced, but he points out that the servant may go into any room in the front part of the house, whereas this part is supposed to be closed. I can see that he is right, but it is nevertheless very tantalising.

On that Saturday afternoon Tiel came back to my room some hours later, and under his quiet manner I could see that he bore tidings of importance. No one could come quicker to the point when he chose, and this time he came to it at once.

"You remember the affair of the Haileybury?" he demanded.

"The British cruiser which was mined early in the war?"

He nodded.

"Perfectly," I said.

"You never at any time came across her captain? His name was Ashington."

"No," I said, "I have met very few British officers."

"I don't know whether you heard that she was supposed to be two miles out of her proper course, contrary to orders, did you?"

"Was she?"

"Ashington says 'no.' But he was court-martialled, and now he's in command of a small boat—the Yellowhammer. Before the loss of his ship he was considered one of the most promising officers in the British service; now——!"

Tiel made an expressive gesture and his eyes smiled at me oddly. I began to understand.

"Now he is an acquaintance of yours?"

Tiel nodded.

"But has he knowledge? Has he special information?"

"His younger brother is on the flagship, and he has several very influential friends. I see that my friends obtain knowledge."

I looked at him hard.

"You are quite sure this is all right? Such men are the last to be trusted—even by those who pay them."

"Do you know many 'such men'?" he inquired.

"None, I am thankful to say."

"They are queer fish," said Tiel in a reminiscent way, "but they generally do the thing pretty thoroughly, especially when one has a firm enough hold of them. Ashington is absolutely reliable."

"Where is he to be seen?"

"He went out for a walk this afternoon," said Tiel drily, "and happened to call at the manse to see if he could get a cup of tea—a very natural thing to do. Come—the coast is clear."

He led the way downstairs and I followed him, not a little excited, I confess. How my mission was going to develop, I had no clear idea when I set forth upon it, but though I had imagined several possible developments, I was not quite prepared for this. To have an officer of the Grand Fleet actually assisting at our councils was decidedly unexpected. I began to realise more and more that Adolph Tiel was a remarkable person.

In the front parlour an officer rose as we entered, and the British and German uniforms bowed to each other under circumstances which were possibly unique. Because, though Ashingtons do exist and these things sometimes happen, they generally happen in mufti. I looked at our visitor very hard. On his part, he looked at me sharply for a moment, and then averted his eyes. I should certainly have done the same in his place.

He was a big burly man, dark, and getting bald. His voice was deep and rich; his skin shone with physical fitness; altogether he was a fine gross animal, and had his spirit been as frank and jovial as his appearance suggested, I could have pictured him the jolliest of company in the ward-room and the life and soul of a desperate enterprise. But he maintained a frowning aspect, and was clearly a man whose sullen temper and sense of injury had led him into my friend's subtle net. However, here he was, and it was manifestly my business not to criticise but to make the most of him.

"Well, gentlemen," began Tiel, "I don't think we need beat about the bush. Captain Ashington has an idea, and it is for Lieutenant von Belke to approve of it or not. I know enough myself about naval affairs to see that there are great possibilities in the suggestion, but I don't know enough to advise on it."

"What is the suggestion?" I asked in a very dry and non-committal voice.

Captain Ashington, I noticed, cleared his throat before he began.

"The fleet is going out one evening next week," he said; "probably on Thursday."

"How do you know?" I demanded.

He looked confidentially at Tiel.

"Mr Tiel knows the source of my information," he said.

"I should like to know it too," said I.

"I can vouch for Captain Ashington's information," said Tiel briefly.

There is something extraordinarily decisive and satisfying about Tiel when he speaks like that. I knew it must be all right; still, I felt it my duty to make sure.

"Have you any objections to telling me?" I asked.

Tiel stepped to my side and whispered—

"I told you about his brother."

I understood, and did not press my question. Whether to respect the man for this remnant of delicacy, or to despise him for not being a more thorough, honest blackguard, I was not quite sure.

"Well," I said, "suppose we know when they are going out, they will take the usual precautions, I presume?"

Ashington leaned forward confidentially over the table.

"They are going out on a new course," he said in a low voice.

I pricked up my ears, but all I said was—

"Why is that?"

"On account of the currents. The old passage hasn't been quite satisfactory. They are going to experiment with a new passage."

This certainly sounded all right, for I knew how diabolical the tideways can be round these islands.

"Do you know the new course at all accurately?" I inquired.

Captain Ashington smiled for the first time, and somehow or other the sight of a smile on his face gave me a strongly increased distaste for the man.

"I know it exactly," he said.

He took out of his pocket a folded chart and laid it on the table. The three of us bent over it, and at a glance I could see that this was business indeed. All the alterations in the mine-fields were shown and the course precisely laid down.

"Well," said Tiel, "I think this suggests something, Belke."

By this time I was inwardly burning with excitement.

"I hope to have the pleasure of being present just about that spot," I said, pointing to the chart.

"Or there," suggested Ashington.

"Either would do very nicely, so far as I can judge," said Tiel. "How many submarines can you concentrate, and how long will it take you to concentrate them?"

I considered the question.

"I am afraid there is no use in concentrating more than two or three in such narrow waters," I said. "Squadronal handling of submarines of course is impossible except on the surface. And we clearly can't keep on the surface!"

Captain Ashington looked at me in a way I did not at all like.

"We run a few risks in the British navy," he said. "D—n it, you'll have a sitting target! I'd crowd in every blank submarine the water would float if I were running this stunt!"

"You don't happen to be running it," I said coldly.

Tiel touched me lightly on the shoulder and gave me a swift smile, pleasant but admonitory.

"The happy mean seems to be suggested," he said soothingly. "There's a great deal to be said for both points of view. On the one hand you risk submarines: on the other hand you make the battle-fleet run risks. One has simply to balance those. What about half a dozen submarines?"

I shook my head.

"Too many," I said. "Besides, we couldn't concentrate them in the time."

"How many could you?"

"Four," I said; "if I can get back to my boat on Monday, we'll have them there on Thursday."

Tiel produced a bottle of whisky and syphons and we sat over the chart discussing details for some time longer. It was finally handed over to me, and Captain Ashington rose to go.

"By the way," I said, "there is one very important preliminary to be arranged. How am I to get back to my boat?"

"That will be all right," said Tiel confidently; "I have just heard from Captain Ashington that they have arrested the wrong man on suspicion of being the gentleman who toured the country yesterday. The only thing is that they can't find his cycle. Now I think if we could arrange to have your motor-cycle quietly left near his house and discovered by the authorities, they are not likely to watch the roads any longer."

"I'll fix that up," said Captain Ashington promptly.

"How will you manage it?" I asked.

"Trust him," said Tiel.

"But then how shall I get back?"

"I shall drive you over," smiled Tiel. "There will probably be a dying woman who desires the consolations of religion in that neighbourhood on Monday night."

I smiled too, but merely at the cunning of the man, not at the thought of parting with my motor-cycle. However, I saw perfectly well that it would be folly to ride it over, and if I left it behind at the manse—well, I was scarcely likely to call for it again!

"Now, Belke," said Tiel, "we had better get you safely back to your turret chamber. You have been away quite as long as is safe."

I bowed to Captain Ashington—I could not bring myself to touch his hand, and we left his great gross figure sipping whisky-and-soda.

"What do you think of him?" asked Tiel.

"He seems extremely competent," I answered candidly. "But what an unspeakable scoundrel!"

"We mustn't quarrel with our instruments," said he philosophically. "He is doing Germany a good turn. Surely that is enough."

"I should like to think that Germany did not need to stoop to use such characters!"

"Yes," he agreed, though in a colourless voice, "one would indeed like to think so."

I could see that Adolph Tiel had not many scruples left after his cosmopolitan experiences.

IV.

WHAT HAPPENED ON SUNDAY.

That evening when we had the house to ourselves, I joined Tiel in the parlour, and we had a long talk on naval matters, British and German. He knew less of British naval affairs than I did, but quite enough about German to make him a keen listener and a very suggestive talker. In fact I found him excellent company. I even suspected him at last of being a man of good birth, and quite fitting company for a German officer. But of course he may have acquired his air of breeding from mixing with men like myself. As for his name, that of course gave no guide, for I scarcely supposed that he had been Tiel throughout his adventurous career. I threw out one or two "feelers" on the subject, but no oyster could be more secretive than Adolph Tiel when he chose.

That night I heard the wind wandering noisily round the old house, and I wakened in the morning to find the rain beating on the window. Tiel came in rather late with my breakfast, and I said to him at once—

"I have just remembered that this is Sunday. I wish I could come and hear your sermon, Tiel!"

"I wish you could, too," said he. "It will be a memorable event in the parish."

"But are you actually going to do it?"

"How can I avoid it?"

"You are so ingenious I should have thought you would have hit upon a plan."

He looked at me in his curious way.

"Why should I have tried to get out of it?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Personally, I shouldn't feel anxious to make a mock of religion if I could avoid it."

"We are such a religious people," said he, "that surely we can count on God forgiving us more readily than other nations."

He spoke in his driest voice, and for a moment I looked at him suspiciously. But he was perfectly grave.

"Still," I replied, "I am glad the Navy doesn't have to preach bogus sermons!"

"Ah," said he, "the German navy has to keep on its pedestal. But the secret service must sometimes creep about in the dust."

His eyes suddenly twinkled as he added—

"But never fear, I shall give them a beautiful sermon! The text will be the passage about Joshua and the spies, and the first hymn will be, 'Onward, Christian Sailors.'"

He threw me a humorous glance and went out. I smiled back, but I confess I was not very much amused. Neither the irreverence nor the jest about the sailors (since it referred apparently to me) struck me as in the best of taste.

That morning was one of the dreariest I ever spent. The wind rose to half a gale, and the fine rain beat in torrents on the panes. I wrote diligently for some time, but after a while I grew tired of that and paced the floor in my stockinged feet (for the sake of quietness) like a caged animal. My one consolation was that to-morrow would see the end of my visit. Already I longed for the cramped quarters and perpetual risks of the submarine, and detested these islands even more bitterly than I hated any other part of Britain.

In the early afternoon I had a pleasant surprise. Tiel came in and told me that his servant had gone out for the rest of the day, and that I could safely come down to the parlour. There I had a late luncheon in comparative comfort, and moreover I could look out of the windows on to the sea. And what a dreary prospect I saw! Under a heavy sky and with grey showers rolling over it, that open treeless country looked desolation itself. As for the waters, whitecaps chased each other over the wind-whipped expanse of grey, fading into a wet blur of moving rain a few miles out. Through this loomed the nearer lines of giant ships, while the farther were blotted clean out. I thought of the long winters when one day of this weather followed another for week after week, month after month; when the northern days were brief and the nights interminable, and this armada lay in these remote isles enduring and waiting. The German navy has had its gloomy and impatient seasons, but not such a prolonged purgatory as that. We have a different arrangement. Probably everybody knows what it is—still, one must not say.

After lunch, when we had lit our cigars, Tiel said—

"By the way, you will be pleased to hear that my efforts this morning were so successful that the people want me to give them another dose next Sunday."

I stared at him.

"Really?" I exclaimed.

He nodded.

"But I thought there would be another preacher next Sunday."

"Oh, by no means. There was no one for next Sunday, and they were only too glad to have the pulpit filled."

"But will you risk it?"

He smiled confidently.

"If there is any danger, I shall get warning in plenty of time."

"To ensure your escape?"

"To vanish somehow."

"But why should you wait?"

He looked at me seriously and said deliberately—

"I have other schemes in my head—something even bigger. It is too early to talk yet, but it is worth running a little risk for."

I looked at this astonishing man with unconcealed admiration. Regulations, authorities, precautions, dangers, he seemed to treat as almost negligible. And I had seen how he could contrive and what he could effect.

"I am afraid I shall have to ask you to stay with me for a few days longer," he added.

I don't think I ever got a more unpleasant shock.

"You mean you wish me not to rejoin my ship to-morrow night?"

"I know it is asking a great deal of you; but, my dear Belke, duty is duty."

"My duty is with my ship," I said quickly. "Besides, it is the post of danger—and of honour. Think of Thursday night!"

"Do you honestly think you are essential to the success of a torpedo attack?"

"Every officer will be required."

"My dear Belke, you didn't answer my question. Are you essential?"'

"My dear Tiel," I replied firmly, for I was quite resolved I should not remain cooped up in this infernal house, exposed to hourly risk of being shot as a spy, while my ship was going into action, "I am sorry to seem disobliging; but I am a naval officer, and my first duty is quite clear to me."

"Pardon me for reminding you that you are at present under my orders," said he.

"While this affair is being arranged only."

"But I say that I have not yet finished my arrangements."

I saw that I was in something of a dilemma, for indeed it was difficult to say exactly how my injunctions met the case.

"Well," I said, "I shall tell you what I shall do. I shall put it to my superior officer, Commander Wiedermann, and ask him whether he desires me to absent myself any longer."

This was a happy inspiration, for I felt certain what Wiedermann would say.

"Then I shall not know till to-morrow night whether to count on you—and then I shall very probably lose you?"

I shrugged my shoulders, but said nothing. Suddenly his face cleared.

"My dear fellow," he said, "I won't press you. Rejoin your ship if you think it your duty."

By mutual consent we changed the subject, and discussed the question of submarines versus surface ships, a subject in which Tiel showed both interest and acumen, though I had naturally more knowledge, and could contribute much from my own personal experience. I must add that it is a pleasure to discuss such matters with him, for he has a frank and genuine respect for those who really understand what they are talking about.

Towards evening I went back to my room, and fell to writing this narrative again, but about ten o'clock I had another visit from Tiel; and again he disconcerted me, though not so seriously this time.

"I had a message from Ashington, asking to see me," he explained, "and I have just returned from a meeting with him. He tells me that the date of the fleet's sailing will probably be altered to Friday, but he will let me know definitely to-morrow or Tuesday."

"Or Tuesday!" I exclaimed. "Then I may have to stay here for another night!"

"I'm sorry," said he, "but I'm afraid it can't be helped."

"But can we ever be sure that the fleet will keep to a programme? I have just been thinking it over, and the question struck me—why are they making this arrangement so far ahead?"

"That struck me too," said Tiel, "and also Ashington. But he has found out now. There is some big scheme on. Some think it is Heligoland, and some think the Baltic. Anyhow, there is a definite programme, and they will certainly keep to it. The only uncertain thing is the actual day of sailing."

"It is a plan which will be nicely upset if we get our torpedoes into three or four of their super-dreadnoughts!" I exclaimed.

He nodded grimly.

"And for that, we want to have the timing exact" he said. "Be patient, my friend; we shall know by Tuesday morning at the latest."

I tried to be as philosophical as I could, but it was a dreary evening, with the rain still beating on my window and another day's confinement to look forward to.

V.

A MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURE.

Monday morning broke wet and windy, but with every sign of clearing up. Tiel looked in for a very few minutes, but he was in his most uncommunicative mood, and merely told me that he would have to be out for the first part of the day, but would be back in the afternoon. I could not help suspecting that he was still a little sore over my refusal to remain with him, and was paying me out by this display of secrecy. Such petty affronts to officers from those unfortunate enough to be outside that class are not unknown. I was of course above taking offence, but I admit that it made me feel less anxious to consult his wishes at every turn.

In this humour I wrote for a time, and at last got up and stared impatiently out of the window. It had become quite a fine day, and the prospect of gazing for the greater part of it at a few acres of inland landscape, with that fascinating spectacle to be seen from the front windows, irritated me more and more. And then, to add to my annoyance, I heard "Boom! Boom! Boom!" crashing from the seaward side, and shaking the very foundations of the house. I began to feel emphatically that it was my duty to watch the British fleet at gunnery practice.

Just then two women appeared, walking slowly away from the house. One had an apron and no hat, and though I had only once caught a fleeting glimpse of the back view of our servant, I made quite certain it was she. I watched them till they reached a farm about quarter of a mile away, and turned into the house, and then I said to myself—

"There can be no danger now!"

And thereupon I unlocked my door, walked boldly downstairs, and went into the front parlour.

I saw a vastly different scene from yesterday. A fresh breeze rippled the blue waters, patches of sunshine and cloud-shadow chased each other over sea and land, and distinct and imposing in its hateful majesty lay the British fleet. A light cruiser of an interesting new type was firing her 6-inch guns at a distant target, and for about five minutes I thoroughly enjoyed myself. And then I heard a sound.

I turned instantly, to see the door opening; and very hurriedly I stepped back behind the nearest window curtain. And then in came our servant—not the lady I had seen departing from the house, I need scarcely say! I was fully half exposed and I dared not make a movement to draw the curtain round me; in fact, even if I had, my feet would have remained perfectly visible. All I could do was to stand as still as a statue and pray that Heaven would blind her.

She walked in briskly, a middle-aged capable-looking woman, holding a broom, and glanced all round the room in a purposeful way. Among the things she looked at was me, but to my utter astonishment she paid no more attention than if I had been a piece of furniture. For a moment I thought she was blind; but her sharp glances clearly came from no sightless eyes. Then I wondered whether she could have such a horrible squint that when she seemed to look at me she was really looking in another direction. But I could see no sign of a cast in those eyes either. And then she picked up an armful of small articles and walked quickly out, leaving the door wide open.

What had saved me I had no idea, but I was resolved not to trust to that curtain any longer. In the middle of the room was a square table of moderate size with a cloth over it. Without stopping to think twice, I dived under the cloth and crouched upon the floor.

The next instant in she came again, and I found that my table-cloth was so scanty that I could follow her movements perfectly. She took some more things out, and then more again, and finally she proceeded to set the furniture piece by piece back against the wall, till the table was left lonely and horribly conspicuous in the middle of the floor. And then she began to sweep out that room.

There was small scope for an exhibition of resource, but I was as resourceful as I was able. I very gently pulled the scanty table-cloth first in one direction and then in the other, according to the side of the room she was sweeping, and as noiselessly as possible I crept a foot or two farther away from her each time. And all the while the dust rose in clouds, and the hateful broom came so near me that it sometimes brushed my boots. And yet the extraordinary woman never showed by a single sign that she had any suspicion of my presence!

At last when the whole floor had been swept—except of course under the table—she paused, and from the glimpse I could get of her attitude she seemed to be ruminating. And then she stooped, lifted the edge of the cloth, and said in an absolutely matter-of-fact voice—

"Will you not better get out till I'm through with my sweeping?"

Too utterly bewildered to speak, I crept out and rose to my feet.

"You can get under the table again when I'm finished," she observed as she pulled off the cloth.

To such an observation there seemed no adequate reply, or at least I could think of none. I turned in silence and hurried back to my bedroom. And there I sat for a space too dumfounded for coherent thought.

Gradually I began to recover my wits and ponder over this mysterious affair, and a theory commenced to take shape. Clearly she was insane, or at least half-witted, and was quite incapable of drawing reasonable conclusions. And the more I thought it over, the more did several circumstances seem to confirm this view. My fire, for instance, with its smoke coming out of the chimney, and the supply of peat and firewood which Tiel or I were constantly bringing up. Had she noticed nothing of that? Also Tiel's frequent ascents of this back staircase to a part of the house supposed to be closed. She must be half-witted.

And then I began to recall her brisk eye and capable air, and the idiot theory resolved into space. Only one alternative seemed left. She must be spying upon us, and aware of my presence all the time! But if so, what could I do? I felt even more helpless than I did that first night when my motor-cycle broke down. I could only sit and wait, revolver in hand.

When I heard Tiel's step at last on the stairs, I confess that my nerves were not at their best.

"We are betrayed!" I exclaimed.

He stared at me very hard.

"What do you mean?" he asked quietly, and I am bound to say this of Tiel, that there is something very reassuring in his calm voice.

I told him hurriedly. He looked at me for a moment, began to smile, and then checked himself.

"I owe you an apology, Belke," he said. "I ought to have explained that that woman is in my pay."

"In your pay?" I cried. "And she has been so all the time?"

He nodded.

"And yet you never told me, but let me hide up in this room like a rat in a hole?"

"The truth is," he replied, "that till I had got to know you pretty well, I was afraid you might be rash—or at least careless, if you knew that woman was one of us."

"So you treated me like an infant, Mr Tiel?"

"The life I have lived," said Tiel quietly, "has not been conducive to creating a feeling of confidence in my fellowmen's discretion—until I know them. I know you now, and I feel sorry I took this precaution. Please accept my apologies."

"I accept your apology," I said stiffly; "but in future, Mr Tiel, things will be pleasanter if you trust me."

He bowed slightly and said simply—

"I shall."

And then in a different voice he said—

"We have a visitor coming this afternoon to stay with us."

"To stay here!" I exclaimed.

"Another of us," he explained.

"Another—in these islands? Who is he?"

As I spoke we heard a bell ring.

"Ah, here she is," said Tiel, going to the door. "Come down and be introduced whenever you like."

For a moment I stood stock still, lost in doubt and wonder.

"She!" I repeated to myself.

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.

VII.

AT NIGHT.

With a curious sense of excitement I crossed the room. I opened the door—and there stood Eileen. She had taken off her hat, and without it looked even more beautiful, for what hat could rival her masses of dark hair so artfully arranged and yet with a rippling wave all through them that utterly defied restraint?

"May I come in for a little?" she said.

She asked in such a friendly smiling way, so modest and yet so unafraid, that even the greatest Don Juan could not have mistaken her honest intention.

"I shall be more than charmed to have your company," I said.

"I'm afraid we soon forget the conventionalities in our service," she said simply. "Tiel has gone out, and I was getting very tired of my own company."

"Imagine how tired I have got of mine!" I cried.

She gave a little understanding nod.

"It must be dreadfully dull for you," she agreed with great sincerity—and she added, as she seated herself in my wicker chair, "I have another excuse for calling on you, and that is, that the more clearly we all three understand what we are doing, the better. Don't you think so?"

"Decidedly! In fact I only wish we all thought the same."

She looked at me inquiringly, and yet as though she comprehended quite well.

"You mean——?"

"Well, to be quite frank, I mean Tiel. He is very clever, and he knows his work. Mein Gott, we can teach him nothing! And perhaps he trusts you implicitly and is quite candid. But he certainly tells me no more than he can help."

"He tells nobody more than he can help," she said. "You are no worse treated than any one else he works with. But it is a little annoying sometimes."

"For instance, do you know what he is doing to-night?" I asked.

There was no mistaking the criticism in the little shrug with which she replied—

"I half suspect he is walking about in the dark by himself just to make me think he is busy on some mysterious affair!"

"Do you actually mean that?" I exclaimed.

"No, no," she said hastily, "not really quite that! But he sometimes tempts one to say these things."

"Have you worked with him often before?"

"Enough to know his little peculiarities." She smiled suddenly. "Oh, he is a very wonderful man, is my dear brother!"

Again I was delighted (I confess it shamelessly!) to hear that unmistakable note of criticism.

"'Wonderful' may have several meanings," I suggested.