Desmond stood up promptly.

"What do you want with me?" he asked quietly, "and why do you speak German in my house?" Mortimer gazed at him blankly.

"Excellence, most excellent," he gasped. "I love prudence. My friend, where are your eyes?"

He put a large, firm hand up and touched the upper edge of the left lapel of his jacket. Desmond followed his gesture with his eyes and saw the other's first finger resting on the shiny gla.s.s head of a black pin. Almost instinctively Desmond imitated the gesture. His fingers came into contact with a gla.s.sheaded pin similarly embedded in the upper edge of the lapel of his own coat.

Then he understood. This must be the distinguishing badge of this confraternity of spies. It was a clever idea, for the black pin was practically invisible, unless one looked for it, and even if seen, would give rise to no suspicions. It had obviously escaped the notice of the Chief and his merry men, and Desmond made a mental resolve to rub this omission well into his superior on the first opportunity. He felt he owed the Chief one.

Mr. Mortimer cleared his throat, as though to indicate the conclusion of the episode. Desmond sat down on the settee.

"Nothing came while I was away!" he said.

"Now that you are back," Mortimer remarked, polishing his gla.s.ses with a bandanna handkerchief, "the service will be resumed. I have come to see you, Mr. Bellward," he went on, turning to Desmond, "contrary to my usual practice, mainly because I wished to confirm by personal observation the very favorable opinion I had formed of your ability from our correspondence. You have already demonstrated your discretion to me. If you continue to show that your prudence is on a level with your zeal, believe I shall not prove myself ungrateful."

So saying he settled his gla.s.ses on his nose again.

The action woke Desmond from a brown study. During the operation of wiping his spectacles, Mr. Mortimer had given Desmond a glimpse of his eyes in their natural state without the protection of those distorting gla.s.ses. To his intense surprise Desmond had seen, instead of the weak, blinking eyes of extreme myopia, a pair of keen piercing eyes with the clear whites of perfect health. Those blue eyes, set rather close together, seemed dimly familiar. Someone, somewhere, had once looked at him like that.

"You are too kind," murmured Desmond, grappling for the thread of the conversation.

Mortimer did not apparently notice his absentmindedness.

"Everything has run smoothly," he resumed, "on the lines on which we have been working hitherto, but more important work lies before us. I have found it necessary to select a quiet rendezvous where I might have an opportunity of conferring in person with my a.s.sociates. The first of these conferences will take place very shortly. I count upon your attendance, Bellward!"

"I shall not fail you," replied Desmond. "But where is this rendezvous of yours, might I ask?"

Mortimer shot a quick glance at him.

"You shall know in good time," he answered drily. Then he added:

"Do you mind if I have a few words with Nur-el-Din before I go!"

The unexpected question caught Desmond off his guard.

"Nur-el-Din?" he stammered feebly.

"She is staying with you, I believe," said Mortimer pleasantly.

Desmond shook his head.

"There must be some mistake," he averred stoutly, "of course I know who you mean, but I have never met the lady. She is not here. What led you to suppose she was?"

But even as he spoke, his eyes fell on a black object which lay near his arm stretched out along the back of the settee. It was a little velvet hat, skewered to the upholstery of the settee by a couple of jewelled hat-pins. A couple of gaudy cushions lay between it and Mortimer's range of vision from the chair in which the latter was sitting. If only Mortimer had not spotted it already!

Desmond's presence of mind did not desert him. On the pretext of settling himself more comfortably he edged up another cushion until it rested upon the other two, thus effectively screening the hat from Mortimer's view even when he should get up.

"I wish she were here," Desmond added, smiling, "one could not have a more delightful companion to share one's solitude, I imagine."

"The lady has disappeared from London under rather suspicious circ.u.mstances;" Mortimer said, letting his grotesque eyes rest for a moment on Desmond's face, "to be quite frank with you, my dear fellow, she has been indiscreet, and the police are after her."

"You don't say!" cried Desmond.

"Indeed, it is a fact," replied the other, "I wish she would take you as her model, my dear Bellward. You are the pattern of prudence, are you not?"

He paused perceptibly and Desmond held his breath.

"She has very few reputable friends," Mortimer continued presently, "under a cloud as she is, she could hardly frequent the company of her old a.s.sociates, Mowbury and Lazarro and Mrs.

Malplaquet, you doubtless know whom I mean. I know she has a very strong recommendation to you, so I naturally thought--well, no matter!"

He rose and extended his hand.

"Au revoir, Bellward," he said, "you shall hear from me very soon. You've got a snug little place here, I must say, and everything in charming taste. I like your pretty cushions."

The blood flew to Desmond's face and he bent down, on pretense of examining the cushions, to hide his confusion.

"They aren't bad," he said, "I got them at Harrod's!"

He accompanied Mortimer to the front door and watched him disappear down the short drive and turn out of the gate into the road. Then feeling strangely ill at ease, he went back to join Nur-el-Din in the dining-room. But only the housekeeper was there, clearing the table.

"If you're looking for the young lady, sir," said old Martha, "she's gone out!"

"Oh!" said Desmond, with a shade of disappointment in his voice, "will she be back for tea?"

"She's not coming back at all," answered the old woman, "she told me to tell you she could not stop, sir. And she wouldn't let me disturb you, neither, sir."

"But did she leave no note or anything for me?" asked Desmond.

"No, sir," answered old Martha as she folded up the cloth.

Gone! Desmond stared gloomily out at the sopping garden with an uneasy feeling that he had failed in his duty.

CHAPTER XIII. WHAT SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES REVEALED

In a very depressed frame of mind, Desmond turned into the library. As he crossed the hall, he noticed how cheerless the house was. Again there came to him that odor of mustiness--of all smells the most eerie and drear--which he had noticed on his arrival. Somehow, as long as Nur-el-Din had been there, he had not remarked the appalling loneliness of the place.

A big log fire was blazing cheerfully in the grate, throwing out a bright glow into the room which, despite the early hour, was already wreathed in shadows. Wearily Desmond pulled a big armchair up to the blaze and sat down. He told himself that he must devote every minute of his spare time to going over in his mind the particulars he had memorized of Mr. Bellward's habits and acquaintanceships. He took the list of Bellward's friends from his pocket-book.

But this afternoon he found it difficult to concentrate his attention. His gaze kept wandering back to the fire, in whose glowing depths he fancied he could see a perfect oval face with pleading eyes and dazzling teeth looking appealingly at him.

Nur-el-Din! What an entrancing creature she was! What pa.s.sion lurked in those black eyes of hers, in her moods, swiftly changing from gusts of fierce imperiousness to gentle airs of feminine charm! What a frail little thing she was to have fought her way alone up the ladder from the lowest rung to the very top!

She must have character and grit, Desmond decided, for he was a young man who adored efficiency: to him efficiency spelled success.

But a spy needs grit, he reflected, and Nur-el-Din had many qualities which would enable her to win the confidence of men.

Hadn't she half-captivated him, the would-be spy-catcher, already?