The Traitor (14 page)

Chapter XV

Under Arrest

Rosemary's face was clouded.

“What is the meaning of all this?” she asked.

“Meaning of all what?” he replied.

She became impatient.

“Don't think me the worst possible kind of fool,
please
, Bobby! Why did you go to Pé? Why did you cause yourself to be watched by our people?”

He looked at her sharply.

“How do you know I was being watched?”

“Mr. Mallory told me, the night we went to the Savoy Grill. It was he who said how indiscreet you had been.…Oh, my dear, why were you such an awful ass?”

He felt hurt, and showed it.

“I don't know that I
was
such an awful ass,” he retorted with some heat.

The answer angered her. Was he going to brazen it out, even to the girl who loved him?

“Don't you?” she retorted. “Then I'm afraid you haven't very much sense of proportion.” Should she tell him all she knew? She decided it was only fair to do so. “Bobby,” she went on, and her face was now very serious, “you'll get to know this soon in any case, and I would much rather you heard it from me than from any one else: since you've been away I've been acting as assistant personal secretary to Sir Brian Fordinghame.”

“The Intelligence man?”

She nodded.

“Yes. He's Chief of Y.1, the department which looks after counter-espionage among other things.”

Looking at her, Bobby realised that she was in deadly earnest. But what on earth could she be getting at?

“You're suspected of being a traitor,” she told him, straight out.

He laughed.

“Don't be a fool, my dear,” he said. “You're trying to pull my leg.”

“I only wish to God I was, Bobby! But I'm perfectly serious. Let me tell you this: from the moment you got to Pé—and even before, when you were on the Paris express—you were under the constant scrutiny of British Secret Service agents.”

“But why?”

“Because you played the fool. Didn't you know that the man who called himself ‘Dr. Emeric Sandor' was a Ronstadt agent?”

“No, of course I didn't.”

Rosemary lit a cigarette but flung it into the grate almost immediately.

“I don't know that I can possibly help you—I want to, of course,” she said. “But I can't help you unless you tell me the absolute truth. Why did you go to Pé?”

He wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue, which had become suddenly dry.

“Because I wanted to see the new tractors which I heard they were going to use for the latest model of tank.”

“Is that the truth, Bobby?” Her eyes were very accusing.

“Of course it's the truth. Damn it, Rosemary, I'm getting tired of being called a liar.”

“All right,” she returned. “Then, if you're telling me the truth, where does the woman you spent so much time with in Pé come in?”

“She was a French Secret Service agent.”

“She was
what
?”

“A French Secret Service agent.”

“Oh, Bobby, what a fool you've been! She was nothing of the sort. She was a Ronstadt spy. She set out deliberately to trap you.”

“That's nonsense.”

“It's the truth—you can read it in the reports we received at Y.1. During the last war she worked for the Germans, posing as a French girl named Marie Roget.”

“Marie Roget.” He repeated the name quietly, but not so quietly that the girl was not able to hear it.

“Didn't you know that?”

“No, of course not. I never heard of the name before. We were staying at the same guest-house. One night she came to my room in an awful state—said that she was being trailed by Ronstadt agents and that she was terrified for her life. It was she who gave me the package I sent to you. She said that it contained something which was of vital importance to both France and Great Britain.”

Rosemary laughed—and it was not pleasant to hear. “How do you know she wasn't fooling you, and that this precious package contained only blank papers?”

“I couldn't imagine anything so silly, and in any case she relied on me.”

He sat down, his hands to his head. He was feeling dazed. He didn't want to talk about this thing any more—not even to Rosemary Allister. He wanted to get away quietly by himself.

“Haven't you anything else to tell me, Bobby?”

“Nothing,” he said. But, because he kept his face averted, she believed that he was lying, and the knowledge was like a sword in her breast.

***

“I am sorry—but I am afraid you must consider yourself under close arrest, Lieutenant Wingate.”

The young officer, his face drawn but under stern control, looked his Commanding Officer straight in the eyes.

“I think I am entitled to ask on what grounds, sir.”

Colonel Harrison twisted the end of his closely clipped moustache.

“On the grounds of betraying military secrets—charges will be preferred against you,” he said curtly. “That is all.”

Bobby felt a hand touch his arm and he turned smartly. The whole thing was incredible—a living nightmare; he felt too stunned to be able to think clearly; a wave of physical nausea was rising up within him.

The officer by his side was—final ironical touch!—his own company commander. The latter's face was not good to look upon.…

This ghastliness had started over two hours before. After the talk with Rosemary, he had rejoined his unit at Woolvington, and, directly after breakfast, had received a message to the effect that his company commander wished to see him.

Major Birtles, with whom he had always been on good terms, had looked at him in what he thought was a very peculiar manner, but said nothing, after an abrupt “Good-morning,” until he had carefully knocked the ashes from his pipe.

Then:

“I have to take you along to the O.C., Wingate—word has just come through from the Orderly Room.”

It was the tone the speaker used that had made Wingate ask, “Is there anything wrong?”

“Something damnably wrong, from what I can hear,” had come the answer, explosively.

More than that, Birtles would not say; and the younger officer, after one other question, which remained unanswered, kept silent. But it was very puzzling.…

Now, ten minutes later, the two were standing before the Commanding Officer.

The interview was short.

Looking as if Wingate were a complete stranger to him, and an unpleasant stranger at that, Colonel Harrison said:

“I have received instructions, Lieutenant Wingate, from the Southern Command Headquarters, to investigate a report that you, during the period of your recent leave, visited a foreign country other than that to which you were granted special permission to travel. Have you got anything to say to that?”

“Yes, sir; I certainly went to Ronstadt and stayed at Pé,” he replied immediately.

The C.O. seemed surprised at the frankness shown. A glance passed between him and the company commander.

***

The horror of the next twenty-four hours, he felt, would never pass from his mind; no matter how long he lived, the memory would be an unfailing torment to him.

After leaving the C.O.'s office, he was told that he was to be transferred and attached to the London District Command. The escorting officer—another supreme piece of irony!—turned out to be his own particular friend in the unit, Hollister.

“What on earth
is
all this?” the latter demanded when he could get a word with Wingate alone. “What in the name of hell have you been up to? They say you're going to be charged with selling secrets to Ronstadt. Tell me, Bobby—it simply isn't true!”

“Of course it isn't true.”

“Thank God! Did you go to Ronstadt when you were on leave?”

“Yes, I went, but—”

“You needn't tell me any more. As long as you can clear yourself that's all I—any of us here—are troubling about at the moment. We all feel there's some ghastly mistake. It's going to create a terrible stink throughout the Corps, of course,” the speaker added.

“You needn't have reminded me of that.”

“Sorry.”

Throughout the journey to London there was an almost unbroken silence between the two. Bobby was occupied with his own thoughts of the filthy trick that fate had played him, while his escort, having asked the one essential question and got what he considered a satisfactory answer, was hesitant to break in on his friend's reflections.

At the Headquarters of the London District Command, Hollister was instructed to take his prisoner to the Tower.

Here, the prisoner found that he was indeed under close arrest—a Lieutenant of the Guards was to sleep in the same room, and he was to be allowed liberty only when he took his daily exercise, and even then he would be accompanied by his escort officer.

The horror mounted. At ten o'clock on the morning after his arrival at the Tower, a visitor was announced. This proved to be a major who declared himself to be a member of the Judge-Advocate General's staff.

“I have come,” he told the prisoner, when they were alone, “to ask you certain questions relative to your recent visit to Pé. Are you prepared to answer those questions?”

“Certainly. I have nothing to hide.”

“That is excellent. Now—”

Throughout the searching interrogatory that followed—and which lasted for the better part of three hours—Wingate answered every question promptly and frankly. The only facts he did not disclose were those relating to Colonel Clinton's affair with Marie Roget seventeen years before.

“You did not know that the man calling himself ‘Dr. Emeric Sandor' was a Ronstadt secret agent?”

“Certainly not. As a matter of fact, he told me he worked for our own Intelligence.”

“Did you speak to him first?”

“No. If the people who sent you the reports about me had kept their eyes open, they would have told you that he bumped into me as I was going along to the dining-saloon. He apologised, and after that we talked.”

“You sat at the same table?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Why did you go to Pé?”

“I've already told you.” He was keeping his temper well controlled. “I went to see if I could get a look at the new tractors which were being shown at the big Agricultural Exhibition.”

“If you were so keen on seeing these tractors, why did you not apply for leave to go to Pé?”

“Because, with the present threat of war between the two countries, I did not think it would be granted. I told my father I thought of going as a civilian and he warned me against it.”

“You are the adopted son, I believe, of Colonel Clinton of M.I.5?”

“Yes.”

“He warned you against going to Pé?”

“Yes.”

“You admit crossing to the Hook of Holland on the night of the twenty-second?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you go?”

“Haven't I already explained? I received a telegram from the woman calling herself Adrienne Grandin and Minna Braun. She wanted me to bring her the package which she had given me in Pé.”

“You say you did not know she was a Ronstadt agent?”

“No, of course not.”

“Do you admit receiving in Pé, from the Ronstadt agent who called himself ‘Emeric Sandor,' two fifty-pound notes?”

“Yes—but I won that money gambling.”

And so on and on until he felt like screaming.

The visitor concluded:

“These charges are considered so serious that a summary of evidence will need to be taken, as I understand that you are to be tried by a General Court-Martial.”

Bobby stared stupefiedly at the speaker. His knowledge of military legal procedure had warned him of this pending ordeal; but, even now that he had heard the words, he could scarcely bring himself to believe that such a fate was actually in store for
him
.…

Chapter XVI

Fleet Street on the Job

Rosemary could see that her Chief was perturbed directly she entered the room that morning.

Her own nerves were so sharply on edge that she had to break through the usual etiquette and ask:

“Is there anything wrong, Sir Brian?”

Fordinghame nodded.

“Young Wingate has been arrested,” he said.

“Arrested? On what charge?”

“Selling military secrets. Of course,” he went on quickly, “it was to be expected; the evidence against him is overwhelming.”

“But it's purely circumstantial evidence, Sir Brian. I was talking to him myself before he left for Woolvington, and he told me the whole thing was preposterous.”

“That's all very well, but facts are facts, young lady. A mountain of evidence has been accumulated against him, and he will find it very difficult, I think, to persuade the court-martial—”

“Court-martial?”

“Yes, he is going to be tried by General Court-Martial.…Good God!” Fordinghame broke off to exclaim. “This will break his father's heart.…He will be tried by General Court-Martial,” he repeated; “and if he's found guilty he'll probably get several years' penal servitude. Naturally enough, the military authorities would not take such drastic action if they were not sure that he was guilty. And I must say, that's my own opinion. I can't think anything else.”

She kept silent. For what was there to say? Although convinced in her own mind that the boy she loved was merely the victim of some malignant fate, what was her own opinion worth? Exactly nothing!

Sir Brian went on talking.

“This will create a most unholy scandal. And it couldn't have happened at a worse time. All kinds of war inventions are now being perfected, and these are causing no end of trouble. Throughout Europe nearly two hundred people have been convicted of spying during the past year. Every Government is at fever-heat about espionage—I'm afraid it is going to go very badly with this young man. But, at any rate, he has taught us a lesson. For instance, the man who is working on an invention for perfecting a ray which, it is believed, will stop the magneto of an aeroplane engine, is being so closely guarded that no one can possibly get either at him or his plans. Any leakage in that direction is now impossible—and thus, as this is probably the most important of all recent war implements, some good may possibly have come out of this dreadful affair. The person I am sorry for is Colonel Clinton. For an officer occupying a very important position in British Intelligence to have his adopted son arraigned as a traitor—well, it's unthinkable!”

Rosemary forced herself to speak.

“Have you seen the Colonel, Sir Brian?”

“Yes. I looked in on him early this morning. He was absolutely crushed.”

“Apart from the authorities, does any one know yet?”

“No. But the Press won't be long in the dark—trust them for that. Wingate is a prisoner at the Tower, and information is bound to leak out. The modern reporter is a vulture for news—especially when it's of the sensational type.”

“Will any one be allowed to see—Bobby?”

“Only privileged persons. And even then they will have to talk to him in the presence of the officer who is in charge of him.”

***

Rosemary worked throughout the rest of the day in a kind of dream state. Even now, she could scarcely bring herself to realise that this dreadful thing was really true. Bobby a traitor! It was fantastic, incredible, and—beastly.

The first thing she did, as she walked up Whitehall on her way home that night, was to buy a paper. With a hand that trembled she took the copy of the
Evening Sun
from the newsboy and quickly scanned the front page. Her eye immediately caught huge headlines:—

GRAVE CHARGES OF ALLEGED TREACHERY: MILITARY SECRETS SOLD TO FOREIGN POWER

The
Evening Sun
is in the position to state that an officer of junior rank belonging to the Tank Corps has been arrested on the grave charge of selling military secrets to a foreign Power, and is at present under close arrest.

It is believed that directly the summary of evidence dealing with the charges made against him has been completed, he will be brought before a General Court-Martial, to be held in London, and there placed on trial.

The affair has caused the utmost consternation in both military and political circles, and a further sensational feature of the case is that the father of the accused occupies a very prominent position at the War Office.

Hastily folding up the paper, Rosemary signalled a passing taxicab. Her duty was plain: she had to see Colonel Clinton and tell him what was in her mind.

The old servant at Chesham Place looked as though she had been crying.

“You know who I am, Hannah?” the caller said. “I am Miss Allister. Is Colonel Clinton in?”

“Yes, miss.” The words were scarcely above a whisper.

“Then tell him I must see him—Oh, go quickly, please; it's very important.”

Within two minutes the servant had reappeared, saying that the Colonel would be pleased to see her.

Colonel Clinton looked like an old man as he rose to shake hands.

“It's very good of you to have taken this trouble, Rosemary,” he said in a low tone. “We shall want all our friends.…”

She took his arm and led him back to the easy-chair.

“And they won't fail you—don't be afraid of that. This charge against Bobby is incredible. I know that the evidence is very strong—I've seen practically all of it in the office—but if we can only get him to be sensible, everything will be all right.”

“Sensible? What do you mean, my dear?”

“Why,” she said heatedly, “isn't it obvious that he's shielding some one?”

She noticed the Colonel start, while a fresh look of pain flashed over his face.

“Whom could he be shielding?” he asked.

“That's what we have to find out. It's Sir Brian's job, of course, to do his best to convict him—but nothing on earth will ever convince me that Bobby deliberately sold his country. He may have been a fool—a dupe—”

“Stop talking, Rosemary,” pleaded her listener. “I have had just about enough to-day.”

“You poor darling!” She did what she could to comfort him, and, after the Colonel had swallowed the whisky-and-soda which she poured out, she was able to ask the question which rose imperatively in her mind.

“Bobby will have some one to defend him, I suppose?”

The Colonel nodded.

“Yes—of course. I've already made up my mind about that.”

“Whom are you going to get—Casson?” This was the name of the very successful K.C.

“No; I'm going to ask Peter Mallory to defend my boy.”

She looked at him, stupefied.

“Mallory?” she repeated. “But he's not a barrister.”

“You don't understand, Rosemary,” he said, and she could see he was forcing himself to be patient with her. “The ordinary King's Counsel is of not much use at a military court-martial. They split hairs, are generally ignorant of the finer points of military law, and are apt to put the judges' backs up. Mallory used to be an officer, he is my closest friend, and—”

“Don't have him,” burst from the girl's lips.

It was plain that Colonel Clinton was utterly nonplussed.

“Why do you say that? What do you know about Peter Mallory?”

She shook her head like some one utterly confused. It would be useless, she knew, to put into words her private feelings concerning Mallory.

“I don't know anything, of course,” she said; “but I feel that you ought to get some one else—some one with more knowledge of law.…Oh, forgive me,” she broke off quickly, “but all this has been hellishly difficult. I'm terribly fond of Bobby—”

This time it was the man who comforted the girl.

“I know you're fond of Bobby,” Clinton said, “and both his mother and I were hoping that something would come of it.”

“It would have—if he'd had any sense. He pretended that my money was an obstacle.” She stopped as though some leering monster had raised its head to mock her. The dreadful suspicion that had come to her before now returned with added power. Suppose, after all, that
was
the secret! But it couldn't be—she had thrashed it out before, and had come to the conclusion that it was impossible—what money could Ronstadt possibly have paid Bobby to compensate him for his loss of honour, or to lead him to think that it was sufficient to make him change his views about marrying her?

It was because she wanted to thrust this out of her mind that she exclaimed vehemently: “Don't you see for yourself, Colonel, that Bobby either must be shielding some one or is being used as a cat's-paw for the real traitor?”

At that moment Hannah announced a visitor.

“Mr. Peter Mallory.”

Rosemary felt confused. She did not want to meet the man. He had rung her up two or three times since the night at the Savoy, but she had always pleaded prior engagements.

“I must go,” she said. “Do you think it would be too much for me to see Mrs. Clinton?”

The Colonel shook his head.

“We are keeping it from her,” he said.

“I understand. Well, good-night, Colonel. Don't let this thing get you down—Bobby's innocent.”

“Of course he's innocent,” was the reply, but there was no animation in his voice.

Outside in the hall, the girl passed Peter Mallory. The latter would have engaged her in conversation, but she pleaded an urgent excuse to get away.

“My father is expecting me home,” she said, and rushed past him.

It was strange that this man, of whom both Fordinghame and Colonel Clinton thought so highly that they had given him their close personal friendship, could inspire in her so much distrust. She was glad when the front door closed between them.