"It is simply signed 'P.', but you shall see it for yourself when you get the other documents in the case.""But surely, sir, such a letter might be presented in perfectly good faith...""It might, but not this one. This letter, as an expert has ascertained beyond all doubt, is written on German manufactured note-paper of a very superior quality;, the writing is stiff and angular and not French: and lastly, the French in which it is phrased, while correct, is unusually pompous and elaborate.""Then..."
"The letter was, in all probability, written by a German!"There was a moment's silence. Desmond was thinking despairingly of the seeming hopelessness of untangling this intricate webwork of tangled threads.
"And this murder, sir," he began.
The Chief shrugged his shoulders.
"The motive, Okewood, I am searching for the motive. I can see none except the highly improbable one of Miss Mackwayte being my confidential secretary. In that case why murder the father, a harmless old man who didn't even know that his daughter is in my service, why kill him, I ask you, and spare the girl? On the other hand, I believe the man Barney's story, and can see that Marigold does, too. When I first heard the news of the murder over the telephone this morning, I had a kind of intuition that we should discover in it a thread leading back to this mesh of espionage. Is it merely a coincidence that a hair, resembling Nur-el-Din's, is found adhering to the straps with which Barbara Mackwayte was bound? I can't think so... and yet...""But do you believe then, that Nur-el-Din murdered-old Mackwayte?
My dear Chief, the idea is preposterous..."The Chief rose from his chair with a sigh.
"Nothing is preposterous in our work, Okewood," he replied. "But it's 3.25, and my French colleague hates to be kept waiting.""I thought you were seeing Strangwise, at two?" asked Desmond.
"I put him off until six o'clock," replied the Chief, "he knows Nur-el-Din, and he may be able to give Marigold some pointers about this affair. You're off to see Miss Mackwayte now, Isuppose. You know where she's staying? Good. Well, I'll say good-bye, Okewood. I shan't see you again...""You won't see me again? How do you mean, sir?""Because you're going back to France!"
"Going back to France? When?"
"By the leave-boat to-night!"
Desmond smiled resignedly.
"My dear Chief," he said, "you must be more explicit. What am Igoing back to France for?"
"Why, now I come to think of it," replied the Chief, "I never told you. You're going back to France to be killed, of course!""To be killed!"
Desmond looked blankly at the other's blandly smiling face.
"Two or three days from now," said the Chief, "you will be killed in action in France. I thought of making it a shell. But we'll have it a machine gun bullet if you like. Whichever you prefer;it's all the same to me!"
He laughed at the dawn of enlightenment in Desmond's eyes.
"I see," said Desmond.
"I hope you don't mind," the Chief went on more seriously, "but Iknow you have no people to consider except your brother and his wife. She's in America, and Francis can't possibly hear about it.
So you needn't worry on that score. Or do you?"Desmond laughed.
"No-o-o!" he said slowly, "but I'm rather young to die. Is it absolutely necessary for me to disappear?""Absolutely!" responded the Chief firmly.
"But how will we manage it?" asked Desmond.
"Catch the leave-boat to-night and don't worry. You will receive your instructions in due course.""But whey shall I see you again?"
The Chief chuckled.
"Depends entirely on yourself, Okewood," he retorted. "When you're through with your job, I expect. In the meantime, Miss Mackwayte will act between us. On that point also you will be fully instructed. And now I must fly!""But I say, sir," Desmond interposed hastily. "You haven't told me what I am to do. What part am I to play in this business anyway?""To-morrow," said the Chief, buttoning up his goat, "you become Mr. Basil Bellward!"
