Fool Errant (9 page)

Hugo gave a sharp exclamation.

“The letter about the field-glasses?”

“It didn't mention field-glasses, did it? I think you said it didn't. I think you said it offered to pay the price you had asked for something you had named. You remember I asked you whether the field-glasses were mentioned in the letter?”

“No, they weren't.”

Mr. Smith poked the fire with his foot.

“I expect Hacker has the pawn-tickets, too,” he said quietly.

Just for a moment Hugo had the sense which had been with him in his dreams at Meade House—that bewildering sense of danger, formless and unescapable. He said “Hacker!” under his breath, and saw how all the odd happenings fitted into place as threads in the meshes of a horrible net.

“
Probably
Hacker,” said Mr. Smith. Then suddenly he straightened up and changed his voice. “Well, there you are. What about it?”

“I—don't—know.”

“I told you what my advice would be—to two of you. To the third”—he began to speak very slowly—“to the third, if he were prepared to take the sort of risk which one man isn't justified in asking another to take—well, I'd give different advice.”

Hugo coloured.

“The
risk
, sir?”

“One is justified in asking a man to risk a good deal for his country—his interest—his prospects—in time of war, his life—yes. And in time of peace, how much? How much am I justified in asking you to risk? And how much are you prepared to risk? That's the question. And if you'd like time to think it over, well, take what time you want.”

“I don't want time—I want to know what the risk is.”

Mr. Smith looked straight at him for the first time. His eyes were different; they were not dreamy now, but vividly intent.

“The biggest risk in the world, Hugo,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“I haven't asked you to do anything yet. But if I asked you to stay where you are, I should be asking you to risk being branded as a thief who stole a military secret of the first importance to his country and sold it to an enemy country. I don't know if I'm justified in asking anyone to take that risk. But it's this way—We know nothing; we suspect a good deal. We have no evidence. If you remain where you are, the evidence might come your way—you might do a great service, an almost incalculable service, or—you might fail, and take the consequences of failure. We couldn't do anything to help you—we couldn't appear in the matter at all—and you'd never be able to show your face again. I said it was a big risk for a big stake in a big game. But it won't look like that; it'll look like the dirtiest trick in the world, in the dirtiest game in the world.”

He stopped, his eyes on Hugo's eyes. There was a silence. Then he said,

“Well, Hugo Ross?”

CHAPTER XIII

Hugo experienced some rather strange feelings. To begin with, he felt as if he were standing up to his knees in ice-cold water. And then he was at the same time horribly afraid and curiously uplifted; he felt as if he were going to do something that he didn't want to do, but to which he was impelled by some quite irresistible force, and he was tingling with excitement. Yet when he spoke, his voice was sober and steady.

“What do you want me to do?”

“What are you willing to do?”

“I'd like to know a little more about it, sir.”

Mr. Smith put a long, thin hand on Hugo's shoulder.

“I can't tell you any more unless you mean to go through with it.”

Hugo heard himself laugh, and heard himself say.

“I'll go through with it, sir.”

He had no idea why he had laughed. But he felt a certain relief; he had said he would do it, and it was easier to do a thing than to make up your mind whether you would do it or not. Now that he had made up his mind, there was that sense of relief. He said,

I'd like to know as much as you can tell me, sir.”

“Why—yes,” said Mr. Smith. He turned back to the fire and began to put some coal upon it. “Why—yes.” He stood up, dusting his fingers, and looked distastefully at a smear of coal-dust on the left forefinger. “The question is,” he said, “how much is there to tell? Not very much, you know—not very much, really. Perhaps I might begin with Mayhew—yes, I think I could tell you about Mayhew. You know the name, I see.”

“Hacker—he was the last secretary—Hacker mentioned him. I don't know anything about him.”

“He was a secret service agent,” said Mr. Smith calmly. “He found Hacker rummaging in his box one day—there wasn't anything there of course—and next day Minstrel sacked him—him, not Hacker. I think that's all I can tell you about Mayhew. He had been with Minstrel for about a year—it was thought advisable. And now I'm afraid I shall have to fall back on another hypothetical case in order to illustrate the present situation. We will postulate an important invention and someone we will call A who is interested in selling the invention to a foreign government. The invention is already the subject of negotiations with a government department in this country. Now the question is, what moment would A choose for his coup? He has to let the foreign agent have the plans, and he has to do it in such a way as to secure the highest price and incur the least amount of suspicion. I think he would wait till the last moment, because this would enable him to raise the price, and it would also give him time to get his plans cut and dried for diverting suspicion. He has to find someone on whom suspicion can reasonably fall, and to arrange matters so that this someone shall have had the opportunity of stealing the plans. I think it would be a necessary part of the scheme that the substitute should actually have the plans in his possession. Yes, I think they would try to arrange that—I think so.”

Mr. Smith rubbed his forefinger with a fine white silk handkerchief, but the smudge remained. He frowned at it and went on speaking in low, introspective tones:

“We are in a very weak position—no legal status. If anyone asks why we don't go to Minstrel direct, what's the answer? Well?”

“Hacker has a lot of influence with him.”

Mr. Smith nodded.

“And Ambrose Minstrel has one of the most irritable tempers in Europe. We have no legal status. He could put his plans in his pocket and cross the Channel and sell them to anyone he chose, and we couldn't stop him. And then”—Mr. Smith's voice faded to a dreamy whisper—“there'd be questions in the House, and leaders in the Press and, generally speaking, the devil to pay. And after that—I don't know how long after—perhaps two years, or three, or five, or even ten—a very great judgment, a very great and ruinous judgment.”

There was a long pause. Then Hugo said hopefully,

“They think I'm an absolute m-m-mug, sir.”

Mr. Smith put his hands behind him. He conveyed the suggestion that he couldn't bear to look at them any longer.

“That, of course, is an asset. Now let me see—yes, this is the position. The negotiations were practically concluded just before Mayhew got the sack. There was at once a hitch. A fortnight ago—I think you've been in your present job for a fortnight—the negotiations were resumed. To-day they are practically concluded. Minstrel was at the Air Ministry yesterday. They had expected that he would bring the complete specifications with him, but he did not do so. He is seeing them again to-day.” Mr. Smith hesitated. “It's not a matter of ordinary plans, you must understand. There's a new—I don't know what to call it—process—that's the blessed word that covers a lot. It's the formula for this which is in question. Until it has been handed over, the whole thing is in the air. Well, I can't tell you any more. Let's come down to brass tacks. Where do you come in? Well, there'll be that moment when the actual transfer to a foreign power takes place. That's a scene in which you are bound to be on, because if you're not there, you can't be compromised—and they want to compromise you, and they think you're a mug. That's the position as I see it. No one can help you, and you may not be able to help yourself. There it is.”

Hugo did not say anything. He was looking at the position as defined by Mr. Smith. It seemed to consist entirely of pitfalls and wire entanglements.

“There it is,” said Mr. Smith. “You mustn't come and see me, and you certainly mustn't write to me. Steps were taken to ascertain that you were not followed here to-day. But you must understand that you might be followed at any time. You had better understand that. Don't use the telephone for anything confidential. If you have anything urgent to report, write for information as to motor-cycles to this address. If it is very urgent, telephone, giving your name and address, and three hours later be at the crossroads on the Ledlington-London road two miles from Ledlington. And make sure—
sure
, mind—that you're not followed. By the way, have you come across Mme. de Lara?”

“No,” said Hugo.

“No—she's been away. But she's going back—you wouldn't have met her yet, but I expect you will. She—er—specializes in young men.” Hugo was enraged to feel that he had coloured. “She lives at Torring House—she is, in fact, Minstrel's next door neighbour. I believe they were once great friends. I am told they are not on speaking terms now. I do not always believe everything that I am told.”

“Who is she?” said Hugo, frowning. He hoped that the frown would convey a complete lack of any except a business interest in Mme. de Lara.

“Oh, a very charming lady. The sort of lady who has had a foreign husband—no one has ever met the husband, but he always has a pleasantly romantic name, and the lady is usually attractive. Mme. de Lara is very attractive. Have you memorized that address and the telephone number? Because if so, we'll put it in the fire. The place really
is
a cycle shop, you know. Now one thing more—if I want to see you, you will receive a gushing little note from a young lady called Daisy, with whom you are on very intimate terms. You needn't take any notice of what's in the note—it will be all—er—eyewash. But a number will be mentioned in some way. Let me illustrate. If Daisy says, ‘I saw three cows to-day,' you will go to those cross-roads outside Ledlington at three o'clock on the day you get the letter. If the three is spelt out, it means P.M.—if it's a numeral it means A.M. If she says ‘I hope to see two friends of yours to-morrow,' then you go to the cross-roads at two p.m. on the day after you get the letter. Now repeat all that, and let's see if you've got it right.”

Hugo repeated it very accurately.

“In an extreme case Daisy might telephone, using the same formula. Nothing else she said would be of any importance. I think that's all. I can't give you any advice, you know. It would probably be very dangerous for you to go to Mme. de Lara's house; but on the other hand it might be very advantageous. The only bit of advice I can give is, ‘Don't fall in love with her.' It would be agreeable, but I'm afraid it would be a handicap.”

Hugo could not think of anything to say. He blushed and said, “Thank you, sir.”

Ananias rose upon his toes, flapped his wings, and said “Awk!”

“That's all,” said Mr. Smith thoughtfully—“except as regards funds. The question is, how hard up are you?”

“Not very.”

“What does that mean? You pawned some things for five pounds a fortnight ago. How much have you got left?”

“About a pound, sir.”

“That's not enough. On the other hand, any considerable sum might be an embarrassment to you. I think”—he paused to consider—“I think you may reasonably be supposed to have a friend whom you can touch for a fiver.” He took five extremely crumpled notes out of a very battered pocket-book. “You needn't say thank you—it's not a personal matter.”

To Hugo's surprise he found himself shaking hands.

“Good luck, Hugo,” said Mr. Smith. Then he looked over his shoulder. “Wish him good luck, Ananias.”

Ananias lifted his wings and displayed their rose-coloured lining.

“
Vaya con Dios
,” he observed a trifle morosely.

CHAPTER XIV

Hugo returned to his lodgings, and was met by Mrs. Miles in a state of agitated dignity.

“If you'd come this way, Mr. Ross. If it's not troubling you too much, there's a matter I'd like for to speak about.”

She led the way into her sitting-room and shut the door. It was a dingy room with a large round mahogany table in the middle of it, and a suite covered in green plush ranged round the walls. One of the green chairs was drawn up to the table. Ella Miles sat on the edge of it looking the picture of misery. Her eyes were red, and so was the tip of her little sharp nose; she held a sodden green handkerchief in one hand and sniffed into it.

“
Well
you may!” said Mrs. Miles addressing her in awful tones. “
Well
you may, Ella my girl! And you that wrote ‘Least said, soonest mended' in your copy-book times and times under my very own blessed eyes!”

Ella sniffed and gazed tearfully at Hugo. She was a little slip of a thing, small-featured and pale. She looked younger than her seventeen years.

“Look at her!” said Mrs. Miles. “Look at her, Mr. Ross—a setting there and sniffing instead of holding her tongue when she hadn't no call to talk!”

“What's the m-m-matter?”

“That's what I asked you in here to tell. You hadn't been gone more than half an hour, when a gentleman comes to the door and asks for you.” She turned on Ella. “He asked for Mr. Ross, didn't he?”

“Yes, h'Aunt.”

“And what call had you to say anything more than what Mr. Ross was out? I ask you
that
, Ella Miles!”

Ella sniffed.

“A bad end is what you'll come to—same as any girl'll come to as stands gossiping on doorsteps.”