Weirmarsh, who had been narrowly watching the countenance of his victim, saw that he had mentioned a disagreeable subject. He noted how pale were the general's cheeks, and how his thin hands twitched with suppressed excitement.

"I am quite ready to talk of other matters," he answered, "though I deem it but right to refer to my instructions."

"And what are they?"

"To request you to supply the promised information."

"But I can't--_I really can't_!"

"You made a promise, remember. And upon that promise I made you a loan of five hundred pounds."

"I know!" cried the unhappy man, who had sunk so deeply into the mire that extrication seemed impossible. "I know! But it is a promise that I can't fulfil. I won't be your tool any longer. Gad! I won't. Don't you hear me?"

"You must!" declared Weirmarsh, bending forward and looking straight into his eyes.

"I will not!" shouted Sir Hugh, his eyes flashing with quick anger.

"Anything but that."

"Why?"

"My efforts in that direction had tragic results on the last occasion."

"Ah!" laughed Weirmarsh. "I see you are superst.i.tious--or something. I did not expect that of you."

"I am not superst.i.tious, Weirmarsh. I only refuse to do what you want. If I gave it to you, it would mean--no I won't--I tell you I won't!"

"Bah! You are growing sentimental!"

"No--I am growing wise. My eyes are at last opened to the dastardly methods of you and your infernal friends. Hear me, once and for all; I refuse to a.s.sist you further; and, moreover, I defy you!"

The doctor was silent for a moment, contemplating the ruby on his finger.

Then, rising slowly from his chair, he said: "Ah! you do not fully realise what your refusal may cost you."

"Cost what it may, Weirmarsh, I ask you to leave my house at once," said the general, scarlet with anger and beside himself with remorse. "And I shall give orders that you are not again to be admitted here."

"Very good!" laughed the other, with a sinister grin. "You will very soon be seeking me in my surgery."

"We shall see," replied Sir Hugh, with a shrug of his shoulders, as the other strode out of his room.

CHAPTER XXII

CONCERNING THE BELLAIRS AFFAIR

WHAT Walter Fetherston had feared had happened. The two men had quarrelled! Throughout the whole of that evening he watched the doctor's movements.

In any other country but our dear old hood-winked England, Fetherston, in the ordinary course, would have been the recipient of high honours from the Sovereign. But he was a writer, and not a financier. He could not afford to subscribe to the party funds, a course suggested by the flat-footed old Lady G----, who was the tout of Government Whips.

Walter preferred to preserve his independence. He had seen and known much during the war, and, disgusted, he preferred to adopt the Canadian Government's decree and remain without "honours."

His pet phrase was: "The extent of a Party's dishonours is known by the honours it bestows. Sc.r.a.ps of ribbon, 'X.Y.Z.' or O.B.E. behind one's name can neither make the gentleman nor create the lady."

His secret connection with Scotland Yard, which was purely patriotic and conducted as a student of underground crime, had taught him many strange things, and he had learnt many remarkable secrets. Some of them were, indeed, his secrets before they became secrets of the Cabinet.

Many of those secrets he kept to himself, one being the remarkable truth that General Sir Hugh Elcombe was implicated in a very strange jumble of affairs--a matter that was indeed incredible.

To the tall, well-groomed, military-looking man with whom he stood at eleven o'clock on the following morning--in a private room at New Scotland Yard--he had never confided that discovery of his. To have done so would have been to betray a man who had a brilliant record as a soldier, and who still held high position at the War Office.

By such denunciation he knew he might earn from "the eyes of the Government" very high commendation, in addition to what he had already earned, yet he had resolved, if possible, to save the old officer, who was really more sinned against than sinning.

"You seem to keep pretty close at the heels of your friend, the doctor of Vauxhall Bridge Road!" laughed Trendall, the director of the department, as they stood together in the big, airy, official-looking room, the two long windows of which looked out over Westminster Bridge.

"You've been in France, Montgomery says. What was your friend doing there?"

"He's been there against his will--very much against his will!"

"And you've found out something--eh?"

"Yes," replied Fetherston. "One or two things."

"Something interesting, of course," remarked the shrewd, active, dark-haired man of fifty, under whose control was one of the most important departments of Scotland Yard. "But tell me, in what direction is this versatile doctor of yours working just at the present?"

"I hardly know," was the novelist's reply, as in a navy serge suit he leaned near the window which overlooked the Thames. "I believe some deep scheme is afoot, but at present I cannot see very far. For that reason I am remaining watchful."

"He does not suspect you, of course? If he does, I'd give you Harris, or Charlesworth, or another of the men--in fact, whoever you like--to a.s.sist you."

"Perhaps I may require someone before long. If so, I will write or wire to the usual private box at the General Post Office, and shall then be glad if you will send a man to meet me."

"Certainly. It was you, Fetherston, who first discovered the existence of this interesting doctor, who had already lived in Vauxhall Bridge Road for eighteen months without arousing suspicion. You have, indeed, a fine nose for mysteries."

At that moment the telephone, standing upon the big writing-table, rang loudly, and the man of secrets crossed to it and listened.

"It's Heywood--at Victoria Station. He's asking for you," he exclaimed.

Walter went to the instrument, and through it heard the words: "The boat train has just gone, sir. Mrs. Caldwell waited for the young lady until the train went off, but she did not arrive. She seemed annoyed and disappointed. Dr. Weirmarsh has been on the platform, evidently watching also."

"Thanks, Heywood," replied Fetherston sharply; "that was all I wanted to know. Good day."

He replaced the receiver, and, walking back to his friend against the window, explained: "A simple little inquiry I was making regarding a departure by the boat train for Paris--that was all."

But he reflected that if Weirmarsh had been watching it must have been to warn the French police over at Calais of the coming of Enid. No action was too dastardly for that unscrupulous scoundrel.

Yet, for the present at least, the girl remained safe. The chief peril was that in which Sir Hugh was placed, now that he had openly defied the doctor.

On the previous evening he had been in the drawing-room at Hill Street when Sir Hugh had returned from interviewing the caller. By his countenance and manner he at once realised that the breach had been widened.