"Mystery man? Old Bletchley?" He sounded frankly incredulous.

Tommy sighed inwardly. He supposed he was imagining things.

He played his next shot - and topped it. Haydock had a good iron shot that stopped just short of the green. As he rejoined the other, he said: "What on earth makes you call Bletchley a mystery man? I should have said he was a painfully prosaic chap - typical Army. Bit set in his ideas and all that - narrow life, an Army life - but, mystery!"

Tommy said vaguely: "Oh, well, I just got the idea from something somebody said -"

They got down to the business of putting. The Commander won the hole.

"Three up and two to play," he remarked with satisfaction.

Then, as Tommy had hoped, his mind, free of the preoccupation of the match, harked back to what Tommy had said.

"What sort of mystery do you mean?" he asked.

Tommy shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh, it was just that n.o.body seemed to know much about him."

"He was in the Rugbyshires."

"Oh, you know that definitely?"

"Well, I - well, no, I don't know myself. I say, Meadowes, what's the idea? Nothing wrong about Bletchley, is there?"

"No, no, of course not." Tommy's disclaimer came hastily. He had started his hare. He could now sit back and watch the Commander's mind chasing after it.

"Always struck me as an almost absurdly typical sort of chap," said Haydock.

"Just so, just so."

"Ah, yes - see what you mean. Bit too much of a type, perhaps?"

"I'm leading the witness," thought Tommy. "Still perhaps something may crop up out of the old boy's mind."

"Yes, I do see what you mean," the Commander went on thoughtfully. "And now I come to think of it I've never actually come across anyone who knew Bletchley before he came down here. He doesn't have any old pals to stay - nothing of that kind."

"Ah!" said Tommy - and added, "Shall we play the bye? Might as well get a bit more exercise. It's a lovely evening."

They drove off, then separated to play their next shots. When they met again on the green, Haydock said abruptly: "Tell me what you heard about him."

"Nothing - nothing at all."

"No need to be so cautious with me, Meadowes. I hear all sorts of rumours. You understand? Every one comes to me. I'm known to be pretty keen on the subject. What's the idea - that Bletchley isn't what he seems to be?"

"It was only the merest suggestion."

"What do they think he is? A Hun? Nonsense, the man's as English as you and I."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure he's quite all right."

"Why, he's always yelling for more foreigners to be interned. Look how violent he was against that young German chap - and quite right, too, it seems. I heard unofficially from the Chief Constable that they found enough to hang von Deinim a dozen times over. He'd got a scheme to poison the water supply off the whole country and he was actually working out a new gas - working on it in one of our factories. My G.o.d, the shortsightedness of our people!! Fancy letting the fellow inside the place to begin with. Believe anything, our Government would! A young fellow has only to come to this country just before war starts and whine a bit about persecution and they shut both eyes and let him into all our secrets. They were just as dense about that fellow Hahn -"

Tommy had no intention of letting the Commander run ahead on the well-grooved track. He deliberately missed a putt.

"Hard lines," cried Haydock. He played a careful shot. The ball rolled into the hole.

"My hole. A bit off your game today. What were we talking about?"

Tommy said firrmly: "About Bletchley being perfectly all right."

"Of course. Of course. I wonder now - I did hear a rather funny story about him - didn't think anything of it at the time -"

Here, to Tommy's annoyance, they were hailed by two other men. The four returned to the clubhouse together and had drinks. After that, the Commander looked at his watch and remarked that he and Meadowes must be getting along. Tommy had accepted an invitation to supper with the Commander.

Smugglers' Rest was in its usual condition of apple-pie order. A tall middle-aged manservant waited on them with the professional deftness of a waiter. Such perfect service was somewhat unusual to find outside of a London restaurant.

When the man had left the room, Tommy commented on the fact.

"Yes, I was lucky to get Appledore."

"How did you get hold of him?"

"He answered an advertis.e.m.e.nt as a matter of fact. He had excellent references, was clearly far superior to any of the others who applied and asked remarkably low wages. I engaged him on the spot."

Tommy said with a laugh: "The war has certainly robbed us of most of our good restaurant service. Practically all good waiters were foreigners. It doesn't seem to come naturally to the Englishman."

"Bit too servile, that's why. Bowing and sc.r.a.ping doesn't come kindly to the English bulldog."

Sitting outside, sipping coffee, Tommy gently asked: "What was it you were going to say on the links? Something about a funny story - apropos of Bletchley."

"What was it now? Hullo, did you see that? Light being shown out at sea. Where's my telescope?"

Tommy sighed. The stars in their courses seemed to be fighting against him. The Commander fussed into the house and out again, swept the horizon with his gla.s.s, outlined a whole system of signalling by the enemy to likely spots on sh.o.r.e, most of the evidence for which seemed to be nonexistent, and proceeded to give a gloomy picture of a successful invasion in the near future.

"No organization, no proper coordination. You're a L.D.V. yourself, Meadowes - you know what it's like. With a man like old Andrews in charge -"

This was well-worn ground. It was Commander Haydock's pet grievance. He ought to be the man in command and he was quite determined to oust Col. Andrews if it could possibly be done.

The manservant brought out whisky and liqueurs while the Commander was still holding forth.

"- and we're still honeycombed with spies - riddled with 'em. It was the same in the last war - hairdressers, waiters -"

Tommy, leaning back, catching the profile of Appledore as the latter hovered deft-footed, thought - "Waiters? You could call that fellow Fritz easier than Appledore..."

Well, why not? The fellow spoke perfect English, true, but then many Germans did. They had perfected their English by years in English restaurants. And the racial type was not unlike. Fair-haired, blue-eyed - often betrayed by the shape of the head - yes, the head - where had he seen a head lately?

He spoke on an impulse. The words fitted in appropriately enough with what the Commander was just saying.

"All these d.a.m.ned forms to fill in. No good at all, Meadowes. Series of idiotic questions -"

Tommy said: "I know. Such as - 'What is your name? Answer N or M."

There was a swerve - a crash. Appledore, the perfect servant, had blundered. A stream of creme de menthe soaked over Tommy's cuff and hand.

The man stammered, "Sorry, sir."

Haydock blazed out in fury.

"You d.a.m.ned clumsy fool! What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing?"

His usually red face was quite purple with anger. Tommy thought: "Talk of an Army temper - Navy beats it hollow!" Haydock continued with a stream of abuse. Appledore was abject in apologies.

Tommy felt uncomfortable for the man, but suddenly, as though by magic, the Commander's wrath pa.s.sed and he was his hearty self again.

"Come along and have a wash. Beastly stuff. It would be the creme de menthe."

Tommy followed him indoors and was soon in the sumptuous bathroom with the innumerable gadgets. He carefully washed off the sticky sweet stuff. The Commander talked from the bedroom next door. He sounded a little shamefaced.

"Afraid I let myself go a bit. Poor old Appledore - he knows I let go a bit more than I mean always."

Tommy turned from the wash-basin drying his hands. He did not notice that a cake of soap had slipped onto the floor. His foot stepped on it. The linoleum was highly polished.

A moment later Tommy was doing a wild ballet dancer step. He shot across the bathroom, arms outstretched. One came up heavily against the right hand tap of the bath, the other pushed heavily against the side of a small bathroom cabinet. It was an extravagant gesture never likely to be achieved except by some catastrophe such as had just occurred.

His foot skidded heavily against the end panel of the bath.

The thing happened like a conjuring trick. The bath slid out from the wall, turning on a concealed pivot. Tommy found himself looking into a dim recess. He had no doubt whatever as to what occupied that recess. It contained a transmitting wireless apparatus.

The Commander's voice had ceased. He appeared suddenly in the doorway. And with a click, several things fell into place in Tommy's brain.

Had he been blind up to now? That jovial florid face - the face of a "hearty Englishman" - was only a mask. Why had he not seen it all along for what it was - the face of a bad-tempered, overbearing Prussian officer. Tommy was helped, no doubt, by the incident that had just happened. For it recalled to him another incident, a Prussian bully turning on a subordinate and rating him with the Junker's true insolence. So had Commander Haydock turned on his subordinate that evening when the latter had been taken unawares.

And it all fitted in - it fitted in like magic. The double bluff. The enemy agent Hahn, sent first, preparing the place, employing foreign workmen, drawing attention to himself and proceeding finally to the next stage in the plan, his own unmasking by the gallant British sailor Commander Haydock. And then how natural that the Englishman should buy the place and tell the story to everyone, boring them by constant repet.i.tion. And so N, securely settled in his appointed place with sea communications and his secret wireless and his staff officers at Sans Souci close at hand, is ready to carry out Germany's plan.

Tommy was unable to resist a flash of genuine admiration. The whole thing had been so perfectly planned. He himself had never suspected Haydock - he had accepted Haydock as the genuine article - only a completely unforeseen accident had given the show away.

All this pa.s.sed through Tommy's mind in a few seconds. He knew, only too well, that he was, that he must necessarily be in deadly peril. If only he could act the part of the credulous thick-headed Englishman well enough.

He turned to Haydock with what he hoped was a natural sounding laugh.

"By Jove, one never stops getting surprises at your place. Was this another of Hahn's little gadgets? You didn't show me this the other day."

Haydock was standing very still. There was a tensity about his big body as it stood there blocking the door.

"More than a match for me," Tommy thought. "And there's that confounded servant, too."

For an instant Haydock stood as though moulded in stone, then he relaxed. He said with a laugh: "d.a.m.ned funny, Meadowes. You went skating over the floor like a ballet dancer! Don't suppose a thing like that would happen once in a thousand times. Dry your hands and come along into the other room."

Tommy followed him out of the bathroom. He was alert and tense in every muscle. Somehow or other he must get safely away from this house with his knowledge. Could he succeed in fooling Haydock? The latter's tone sounded natural enough.

With an arm round Tommy's shoulders, a casual arm, perhaps (or perhaps not), Haydock shepherded him into the sitting room. Turning, he shut the door behind them.

"Look here, old boy, I've got something to say to you."

His voice was friendly, natural - just a shade embarra.s.sed. He motioned to Tommy to sit down.

"It's a bit awkward," he said. "Upon my word, it's a bit awkward! Nothing for it, though, but to take you into my confidence. Only you'll have to keep dark about it, Meadowes. You understand that?"

Tommy endeavoured to throw an expression of eager interest upon his face.

Haydock sat down and drew his chair confidentially close.

"You see, Meadowes, it's like this. n.o.body's supposed to know it but I'm working on Intelligence. M.I. 42 B.X. - that's my department. Ever heard of it?"

Tommy shook his head and intensified the eager expression.

"Well, it's pretty secret. Kind of inner ring, if you know what I mean. We transmit certain information from here - but it would be absolutely fatal if that fact got out, you understand?"

"Of course, of course," said Mr Meadowes. "Most interesting! Naturally you can count on me not to say a word."

"Yes, that's absolutely vital. The whole thing is extremely confidential."

"I quite understand. Your work must be most thrilling. Really most thrilling. I should like so much to know more about it - but I suppose I mustn't ask that?"

"No, I'm afraid not. It's very secret, you see."

"Oh, yes, I see. I really do apologize - a most extraordinary accident -"

He thought to himself: "Surely he can't be taken in? He can't imagine I'd fall for this stuff?"

It seemed incredible to him. Then he reflected that vanity had been the undoing of many men. Commander Haydock was a clever man, a big fellow - this miserable chap Meadowes was a stupid Britisher - the sort of man who would believe anything! If only Haydock continued to think that.

Tommy went on talking. He displayed keen interest and curiosity. He knew he mustn't ask questions but - he supposed Commander Haydock's work must be very dangerous? Had he ever been in Germany, working there?

Haydock replied genially enough. He was intensely the British sailor now - the Prussian officer had disappeared. But Tommy, watching him with a new vision, wondered how he could ever have been deceived. The shape of the head - the line of the jaw - nothing British about them.

Presently Mr Meadowes rose. It was the supreme test. Would it go off all right?

"I really must be going now - getting quite late - feel terribly apologetic, but can a.s.sure you will not say a word to anybody."

("It's now or never. Will he let me go or not? I must be ready - a straight to his jaw would be best -") Talking amiably and with pleasurable excitement, Mr Meadowes edged towards the door.

He was in the hall... he had opened the front door...

Through a door on the right he caught a glimpse of Appledore setting the breakfast things ready on a tray for the morning. (The d.a.m.ned fools were going to let him get away with it!) The two men stood in the porch, chatting - fixing up another match for next Sat.u.r.day.

Tommy thought grimly: "There'll be no next Sat.u.r.day for you, my boy."