CHAPTER XXXIII

Mills' words were plainly audible throughout the room. Philippa made

eager signs to Lessingham, pointing to the French windows. Lessingham,

however, shook his head.

“I prefer,” he said gently, “to finish my conversation with your

husband.”'

There was another and more insistent summons from outside. This time it

was Captain Griffiths' raucous voice.

“Sir Henry Cranston,” he called out, “I am here with authority. I beg to

be admitted.”

“Where is your escort?”

“In the hall.”

“If I let you come in,” Sir Henry continued, “will you come alone?”

“I should prefer it,” was the eager reply. “I wish to make this business

as little unpleasant to--to everybody as possible.”

Sir Henry softly turned the key, opened the door, and admitted

Griffiths. The man seemed to see no one else but Lessingham. He would

have hastened at once towards him, but Sir Henry laid his hand upon his

arm.

“You must kindly restrain your impatience for a few moments,” he

insisted. “This is a private conference. Your business with the Baron

Maderstrom can be adjusted later.”

“It is my duty,” Griffiths proclaimed impatiently, “to arrest that man

as a spy. I have authority, granted me this morning in London.”

“Quite so,” Sir Henry observed, “but we are in the midst of a very

interesting little discussion which I intend to conclude. Your turn will

come later, Captain Griffiths.”

“I can countenance no discussion with such men as that,” Griffiths

declared scornfully. “I am here in the execution of my duty, and I

resent any interference with it.”

“No one wishes to interfere with you,” Sir Henry assured him, “but until

I say the word you will obey my orders.”

“So far as I am concerned,” Lessingham intervened, “I wish it to be

understood that I offer no defence.”

“You have no defence,” Sir Henry reminded him suavely. “I gather that

not only had you the effrontery to steal a chart from my pocket in the

midst of a life struggle upon the trawler, but you have capped this

exploit with a deliberate attempt to abduct my wife.”

Griffiths seemed for a moment almost beside himself. His eyes glowed.

His long fingers twitched. He kept edging a little nearer to Lessingham.

“Both charges,” the latter confessed, looking Sir Henry in the eyes,

“are true.”

Then Philippa found herself. She saw the sudden flash in her husband's

eyes, the grim fury in Griffiths' face. She stepped once more forward.

“Henry,” she insisted, “you must listen to what I have to say.”

“We have had enough words,” Griffiths interposed savagely.

Sir Henry ignored the interruption.

“I am listening, Philippa,” he said calmly.

“It was my intention an hour ago to leave this place with Mr. Lessingham

to-night,” she told him deliberately.

“The devil it was!” Sir Henry muttered.

“As for the reason, you know it,” she continued, her tone full of

courage. “I am willing to throw myself at your feet now, but all the

same I was hardly treated. I was made the scapegoat of your stupid

promise. You kept me in ignorance of things a wife should know. You even

encouraged me to believe you a coward, when a single word from you

would have changed everything. Therefore, I say that it is you who are

responsible for what I nearly did, and what I should have done but for

him--listen, Henry--but for him!”

“But for him,” her husband repeated curiously.

“It was Mr. Lessingham,” she declared, “who opened my eyes concerning

you. It was he who refused to let me yield to that impulse of anger.

Look at my coat there. My bag is on that table. I was ready to leave

with him to-night. Before we went, he insisted on telling me everything

about you. He could have escaped, and I was willing to go with him.

Instead, he spent those precious minutes telling me the truth about you.

That was the end.”

“Lady Cranston omits to add,” Lessingham put in, “that before I did

so she told me frankly that her feelings for me were of warm

friendliness--that her love was given to her husband, and her husband

only.”

“How long is this to go on?” Griffiths asked harshly. “I have

the authority here and the power to take that man. These domestic

explanations have nothing to do with the case.”

“Excuse me,” Sir Henry retorted, with quiet emphasis, “they have a great

deal to do with it.”

“I am Commandant of this place--” Griffiths commenced.

“And I possess an authority here which you had better not dispute,” Sir

Henry reminded him sternly.

There was a moment's tense silence. Griffiths set his teeth hard, but

his hand wandered towards the back of his belt.

“I am now,” Sir Henry continued, “going to announce to you a piece

of news, over which we shall all be gloating when to-morrow morning's

newspapers are issued, but which is not as yet generally known. During

last night, a considerable squadron of German cruisers managed to cross

the North Sea and found their way to a certain port of considerable

importance to us.”

Lessingham started, His face was drawn as though with pain. He had the

air of one who shrinks from the news he is about to hear.

“Incidentally,” Sir Henry continued, “three-quarters of the squadron

also found their way to the bottom of the sea, and the other quarter met

our own squadron, lying in wait for their retreat, and will not return.”

Lessingham swayed for a moment upon his feet. One could almost fancy

that Sir Henry's tone was tinged with pity as he turned towards him.

“The chart of the mine field of which you possessed yourself,” he said,

“which it was the object of your visit here to secure, was a chart

specially prepared for you. You see, our own Secret Service is not

altogether asleep. Those very safe and inviting-looking channels for

British and Allied traffic--I marked them very clearly, didn't I?--were

where I'd laid my mines. The channels which your cruisers so carefully

avoided were the only safe avenues. So you see why it is, Maderstrom,

that I have no grudge against you.”

Lessingham's face for a moment was the face of a stricken man. There was

a look of dull horror in his eyes.

“Is this the truth?” he gasped.

“It is the truth,” Sir Henry assured him gravely.

“Does this conclude the explanations?” Captain Griffiths demanded

impatiently. “Your news is magnificent, Sir Henry. As regards this

felon--”

Sir Henry held up his hand.

“Maderstrom's fate,” he said, “is mine to deal with and not yours,

Captain Griffiths.”

Philippa was the first to grasp the intentions of the man who was

standing only a few feet from her. She threw herself upon his arm and

dragged down the revolver which he had raised. Sir Henry, with a shout

of fury, was upon them at once. He took Griffiths by the throat and

threw him upon the sofa. The revolver clattered harmlessly on to the

carpet.

“His Majesty's Service has no use for madmen,” he thundered. “You know

that I possess superior authority here.”

“That man shall not escape!” Griffiths shouted.

He struggled for his whistle. Sir Henry snatched it from him and picked

up the revolver from the carpet.

“Look here, Griffiths,” he remonstrated severely, “one single move

in opposition to my wishes will cost you your career. Let there be

no misunderstanding about it. That man will not be arrested by you

to-night.”

Griffiths staggered to his feet. He was half cowed, half furious.

“You take the responsibility for this, Sir Henry?” he demanded thickly.

“The man is a proved traitor. If you assist him to escape, you are

subject to penalties--”

Sir Henry threw open the door.

“Captain Griffiths,” he interrupted, “I am not ignorant of my position

in this matter. Believe me, your last chance of retaining your position

here is to remember that you have had specific orders to yield to my

authority in all matters. Kindly leave this room and take your soldiers

back to their quarters.”

Griffiths hesitated for a single moment. He had the appearance of a man

half demented by a passion which could find no outlet. Then he left the

room, without salute, without a glance to the right or to the left. Out

in the hall, a moment later, they heard a harsh voice of command.

The hall door was opened and closed behind the sound of retreating

footsteps.

“Sir Henry,” Lessingham reminded him, “I have not asked for your

intervention.”

“My dear fellow, you wouldn't,” was the prompt reply. “As for the little

trouble that has happened in the North Sea, don't take it too much to

heart, it was entirely the fault of the people who sent you here.”

“The fault of the people who sent me here,” Lessingham repeated. “I

scarcely understand.”

“It's simple enough,” Sir Henry continued. “You see, you are about as

fit to be a spy as Philippa, my wife here, is to be a detective. You

possess the one insuperable obstacle of having the instincts of a

gentleman.--Come, come,” he went on, “we have nothing more to say to one

another. Open that window and take the narrow path down to the beach.

Jimmy Dumble is waiting for you at the gate. He will row you out to a

Dutch trawler which is lying even now off the point.”

“You mean me to get away?” Lessingham exclaimed, bewildered.

“Believe me, it will cost nothing,” Sir Henry assured him. “I was not

bluffing when I told Captain Griffiths that I had supreme authority

here. He knows perfectly well that I am within my rights in aiding your

escape.”

Philippa moved swiftly to where Lessingham was standing. She gave him

her hands.

“Dear friend,” she begged, “so wonderful a friend as you have been,

don't refuse this last thing.”

“Be a sensible fellow, Maderstrom,” Sir Henry said. “Remember that you

can't do yourself or your adopted country a ha'porth of good by playing

the Quixote.”

“Besides,” Philippa continued, holding his hands tightly, “it is, after

all, only an exchange. You have saved Henry's life, set Richard free,

and brought us happiness. Why should you hesitate to accept your own

liberty?”

Sir Henry threw open the window and looked towards a green light out at

sea.

“There's your trawler,” he pointed out, “and remember the tide will turn

in half an hour. I don't wish to hurry you.”

Lessingham raised Philippa's fingers to his lips.

“I shall think of you both always,” he said simply. “You are very

wonderful people.”

He turned towards the window. Sir Henry took up the Homburg hat from the

table by his side.

“Better take your hat,” he suggested.

Lessingham paused, accepted it, and looked steadfastly at the donor.

“You knew from the first?” he asked.

“From the very first,” Sir Henry assured him. “Don't look so

confounded,” he went on consolingly. “Remember that espionage is the

only profession in which it is an honour to fail.”

Philippa came a little shyly into her husband's arms, as he turned back

into the room. The tenderness in his own face, however, and a little

catch in his voice, broke down at once the wall of reserve which had

grown up between them.

“My dear little woman!” he murmured. “My little sweetheart! You don't

know how I've ached to explain everything to you--including the Russian

ladies.”

“Explain them at once, sir!” Philippa insisted, pretending to draw her

face away for a moment.

“They were the wife and sister-in-law of the Russian Admiral, Draskieff,

who was sent over to report upon our method of mine laying,” he told

her.

“You and I have to go up to a little dinner they are giving to-morrow or

the next day.”

“Oh, dear, what an idiot I was!” Philippa exclaimed ruefully. “I

imagined--all sorts of things. But, Henry dear,” she went on, “do you

know that we have a great surprise for you--here in the house?”

“No surprise, dear,” he assured her, shaking his head. “I knew the very

hour that Richard left Wittenberg. And here he is, by Jove!”

Richard and Helen entered together. Philippa could not even wait for the

conclusion of the hearty but exceedingly British greeting which passed

between the two men.

“Listen to me, both of you!” she cried incoherently. “Helen, you

especially! You never heard anything so wonderful in your life! They

weren't fishing excursions at all. There weren't any whiting. Henry was

laying mines all the time, and he's blown up half the German fleet! It's

all in the Times this morning. He's got a D.S.O.--Henry has--and he's a

Rear-Admiral! Oh, Helen, I want to cry!”

The two women wandered into a far corner of the room. Richard wrung his

brother-in-law's hand.

“Philippa isn't exactly coherent,” he remarked, “but it sounds all

right.”

“You see,” Sir Henry explained, “I've been mine laying ever since the

war started. I always had ideas of my own about mine fields, as you may

remember. I started with Scotland, and then they moved me down here.

The Admiralty thought they'd be mighty clever, and they insisted upon my

keeping my job secret. It led to a little trouble with Philippa, but I

think we are through with all that.--I suppose you know that those two

young women have been engaged in a regular conspiracy, Dick?”

“I know a little,” Richard replied gravely, “and I'm sure you will

believe that I wouldn't have countenanced it for a moment if I'd had any

idea what they were up to.”

“I'm sure you wouldn't,” Sir Henry agreed. “Anyway, it led to no harm.”

“Maderstrom, then,” Richard asked, with a sudden more complete

apprehension of the affair, “was over here to spy upon you?”

“That's the ticket,” Sir Henry assented.

Richard frowned.

“And he bribed Philippa and Helen with my liberty!”

“Don't you worry about that,” his brother-in-law begged. “They must have

known by instinct that a chap like Maderstrom couldn't do any harm.”

“Where is he now?” Richard asked eagerly. “Helen insisted upon keeping

me out of the way but we've heard all sorts of rumours. The Commandant

has been up here after him, hasn't he?”

“Yes, and I sent him away with a flea in his ear! I don't like the

fellow.”

“And Maderstrom?”

“The pseudo-Mr. Lessingham, eh?” Sir Henry observed. “Well, to tell you

the truth, Dick, if there is one person I am a little sorry for in the

history of the last few weeks, it's Maderstrom.”

“You, too?” Richard exclaimed. “Why, every one seems crazy about the

fellow.”

Sir Henry nodded.

“I remember him in your college days, Dick. He was a gentleman and a

good sort, only unfortunately his mother was a German. He did his bit of

soldiering with the Prussian Guards at the beginning of the war, got a

knock and volunteered for the Secret Service. They sent him over here.

The fellow must have no end of pluck, for, as I dare say you know, they

let him down from the observation car of a Zeppelin. He finds his

way here all right, makes his silly little bargain with our dear but

gullible womenkind, and sets himself to watch--to watch me, mind. The

whole affair is too ridiculously transparent. For a time he can't bring

himself even to touch my papers here, although, as it happens, they

wouldn't have done him the least bit of good. It was only the stress

and excitement of the shipwreck last week that he ventured to steal the

chart which I had so carefully prepared for him. I really think, if

he hadn't done that, I should have had to slip it into his pocket or

absolutely force it upon him somehow. He sends it off like a lamb and

behold the result! We've crippled the German Navy for the rest of the

war.”

“It was a faked chart, then, of course?” Richard demanded breathlessly.

“And quite the cleverest I ever prepared,” Sir Henry acknowledged. “I

can assure you that it would have taken in Von Tirpitz himself, if he'd

got hold of it.”

“But where is Maderstrom now, sir?” Richard asked.

Sir Henry moved his head towards the window, where Philippa, for the

last few moments, had softly taken her place. Her eyes were watching

a green light bobbing up and down in the distance. Suddenly she gave a

little exclamation.

“It's moving!” she cried. “He's off!”

“He's safe on a Dutch trawler,” Sir Henry declared. “And I think,” he

added, moving towards the sideboard, “it's time you and I had a drink

together, Dick.”

They helped themselves to whisky and soda. There were still many

explanations to be given. Half-concealed by the curtain, Philippa stood

with her eyes turned seawards. The green light was dimmer now, and the

low, black outline of the trawler crept slowly over the glittering track

of moonlight. She gave a little start as it came into sight. There was

a sob in her throat, tears burning in her eyes. Her fingers clutched the

curtains almost passionately. She stood there watching until her eyes

ached. Then she felt an arm around her waist and her husband's whisper

in her ear.

“I haven't let you wander too far, have I, Phil?”

She turned quickly towards him, eager for the comfort of his extended

arms. Her face was buried in his shoulder.

“You know,” she murmured.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Zeppelin's Passenger, by E. Phillips Oppenheim