The large oak-panelled, book-lined room had a curtain hung in thefurther corner. When this was drawn it disclosed a large, brass-boundsafe. Von Bork detached a small key from his watch chain, and aftersome considerable manipulation of the lock he swung open the heavy door.
"Look!" said he, standing clear, with a wave of his hand.
The light shone vividly into the opened safe, and the secretary of theembassy gazed with an absorbed interest at the rows of stuffedpigeon-holes with which it was furnished. Each pigeon-hole had itslabel, and his eyes as he glanced along them read a long series of
suchtitles as "Fords," "Harbour-defences," "Aeroplanes," "Ireland,""Egypt," "Portsmouth forts," "The Channel," "Rosythe," and a score ofothers. Each compartment was bristling with papers and plans.
"Colossal!" said the secretary. Putting down his cigar he softlyclapped his fat hands.
"And all in four years, Baron. Not such a bad show for thehard-drinking, hard-riding country squire. But the gem of mycollection is coming and there is the setting all ready for it." Hepointed to a space over which "Naval Signals" was printed.
"But you have a good dossier there already."
"Out of date and waste paper. The Admiralty in some way got the alarmand every code has been changed. It was a blow, Baron--the
worstsetback in my whole campaign. But thanks to my check-book and the goodAltamont all will be well to-night."
The Baron looked at his watch and gave a guttural exclamation ofdisappointment.
"Well, I really can wait no longer. You can imagine that things aremoving at present in Carlton Terrace and that we have all to be at ourposts. I had hoped to be able to bring news of your great coup. DidAltamont name no hour?"
Von Bork pushed over a telegram.
Will come without fail to-night and bring new sparking plugs.
Altamont.
"Sparking plugs, eh?"
"You see he poses as a motor expert and I keep a full garage. In ourcode everything likely to come up is named after some spare part. Ifhe talks of a radiator it is a battleship, of an oil pump a cruiser,and so on. Sparking plugs are naval signals."
"From Portsmouth at midday," said the secretary, examining thesuperscription. "By the way, what do you give him?"
"Five hundred pounds for this particular job. Of course he has asalary as well."
"The greedy rogue. They are useful, these traitors, but I grudge themtheir blood money."
"I grudge Altamont nothing. He is a wonderful worker. If I pay himwell, at least he delivers the goods, to use his own phrase. Besides heis not a traitor. I assure you that our most pan-Germanic Junker is asucking dove in his feelings towards England as compared with a realbitter Irish-American."
"Oh, an Irish-American?"
"If you heard him talk you would not doubt it. Sometimes I assure youI can hardly understand him. He seems to have declared war on theKing's English as well as on the English king. Must you really go? Hemay be here any moment."
"No. I'm sorry, but I have already overstayed my time. We shallexpect you early to-morrow, and when you get that signal book throughthe little door on the Duke of York's steps you can put a triumphantFinis to your record in England. What! Tokay!" He indicated aheavily sealed dust-covered bottle which stood with two high glassesupon a salver.
"May I offer you a glass before your journey?"
"No, thanks. But it looks like revelry."
"Altamont has a nice taste in wines, and he took a fancy to my Tokay.He is a touchy fellow and needs humouring in small things. I have tostudy him, I assure you." They had strolled out on to the terraceagain, and along it to the further end where at a touch from theBaron's chauffeur the great car shivered and chuckled. "Those are thelights of Harwich, I suppose," said the secretary, pulling on his dustcoat. "How still and peaceful it all seems. There may be other lightswithin the week, and the English coast a less tranquil place! Theheavens, too, may not be quite so peaceful if all that the good Zepplinpromises us comes true. By the way, who is that?"
Only one window showed a light behind them; in it there stood a lamp,and beside it, seated at a table, was a dear old ruddy-faced woman in acountry cap. She was bending over her knitting and stoppingoccasionally to stroke a large black cat upon a stool beside her.
"That is Martha, the only servant I have left."
The secretary chuckled.
"She might almost personify Britannia," said he, "with her completeself-absorption and general air of comfortable somnolence. Well, aurevoir, Von Bork!" With a final wave of his hand he sprang into thecar, and a moment later the two golden cones from the headlights shotthrough the darkness. The secretary lay back in the cushions of theluxurious limousine, with his thoughts so full of the impendingEuropean tragedy that he hardly observed that as his car swung roundthe village street it nearly passed over a little Ford coming in theopposite direction.