Part 46 (1/2)

”But if they know about it,” I objected, ”how is it that McMurtrie and Savaroff aren't in Siberia? I've never heard that the Russians are particularly tender-hearted where traitors are concerned.”

Latimer indulged in that peculiarly dry smile of his. ”If the Government had got hold of them I think their destination would have been a much warmer one than Siberia. As it was they disappeared just in time. There was a gang of them--four or five at the least--and all men of position and influence. They must have made an enormous amount of money out of the j.a.ps. In the end one of them rounded on the others--at least that's what appears to have happened. Anyhow McMurtrie and Savaroff skipped, and skipped in such a hurry that they seem to have left most of their savings behind them. I suppose that's what made them start business again in England.”

”You're absolutely sure they're the same pair?” asked Tommy.

”Absolutely. I've got their full description from the Russian police.

It tallies in every way--even to Savaroff's daughter. There _is_ a girl with them, I believe?”

”Yes,” I said. ”There's a girl.” Then I paused for a moment. ”Look here, Latimer,” I went on. ”What is it you want me to do? I'll help you in any way I can. When I made my bargain with McMurtrie I hadn't a notion what his real game was. I don't in the least want to buy my freedom by selling England to Germany. The only thing I flatly and utterly refuse to do is to serve out the rest of my sentence. If it's bound to come out who I am, you must give me your word I shall have a reasonable warning. I don't much mind dying--especially if I can arrange for ten minutes with George first--but quite candidly I'd see England wiped off the map before I'd go back to Dartmoor.”

Latimer made a slight gesture with his hands. ”You've saved my life, once at all events,” he said. ”It may seem a trifle to you, but it's a matter of quite considerable importance to me. I don't think you need worry about going back to Dartmoor--not as long as the Secret Service is in existence.”

”Well, what is it you want me to do?” I asked again.

He was silent for a moment or two, as though arranging his ideas. Then he began to speak very slowly and deliberately.

”I want you to go on as if nothing had happened. Write to McMurtrie the first thing tomorrow morning and tell him that you've made the powder. He is sure to come down to the hut at once. You can show him that it's genuine, but on no account let him have any of it to take away. Tell him that you will only hand over the secret on receipt of a written agreement, and make him see that you're absolutely serious.

Meanwhile let me know everything that happens as soon as you possibly can. Telegraph to me at 145 Jermyn Street. You can send in the messages to Tilbury by the man who's looking after your boat. Use some quick simple cypher--suppose we say the alphabet backwards, Z for A and so on. Have you got plenty of money?”

I nodded. ”I should like to have some sort of notion what you're going to do,” I said. ”It would be much more inspiriting than working in the dark.”

”It depends entirely on the next two days. I shall go back to London tonight and find out if either of my men has got hold of any fresh information. Then I shall put the whole thing in front of Cas.e.m.e.nt. If he agrees with me I shall wait till the last possible moment before striking. We've enough evidence about the Devonport case to arrest McMurtrie and Savaroff straight away, but I feel it would be madness while there's a chance of getting to the bottom of this business.

Perhaps you understand now why I've risked everything tonight. We're playing for high stakes, Mr. Lyndon, and you--” he paused--”well, I'm inclined to think that you've the ace of trumps.”

I stood up and faced him. ”I hope so,” I said. ”I'm rather tired of being taken for the Knave.”

”Isn't there a job for me?” asked Tommy pathetically. ”I'm open for anything, especially if it wants a bit of physical violence.”

”There will probably be a demand for that a little later on,” said Latimer in his quiet drawl. ”At present I want you to come back with me to London. I shall find plenty for you to do there, Morrison. The fewer people that are mixed up in this affair the better.” He turned to me. ”You can take the boat back to Tilbury alone if we go ash.o.r.e here?”

I nodded, and he once more held out his hand.

”We shall meet again soon,” he said--”very soon I think. Have you ever read Longfellow?”

It was such a surprising question that I couldn't help smiling.

”Not recently,” I said. ”I haven't been in the mood for poetry the last two or three years.”

He held my hand and his blue eyes looked steadily into mine.

”Ah,” he said. ”I don't want to be too optimistic, but there's a verse in Longfellow which I think you might like.” He paused again. ”It has something to do with the Mills of G.o.d,” he added slowly.

CHAPTER XXI

SONIA'S SUDDEN VISIT

One's feelings are queer things. Personally I never have the least notion how a particular situation will affect me until I happen to find myself in it.