The Bomb-Makers

by William Le Queux

else.

  "Come, darling. We have surely seen enough!" whispered Seymour Kennedysoftly to Ella, as they watched the great sensation caused by theself-destruction of the conspirator, and the hurry of the police towardsthe dead man. "The Ministers will very soon discover for themselves hownarrowly they have escaped."

  And as they both turned away, Ella, looking fondly into her lover'sface, remarked in a low voice: "Yes, indeed, Seymour. They certainlyowe their safety to you!"

  CHAPTER FOUR.

  THE EXPLOSIVE NEEDLE.

  "Then you suspect that another plot is in progress, Ella?"

  "I feel confident of it. The Count is furious at the failure of theconspiracy against Mr Merton Mansfield. He came to see father lastnight. I did not gather much, as I had to get away to the theatre, butI overheard him suggest that some other method should be tried," repliedElla Drost.

  She was sitting in the dainty little drawing-room of the flat inStamfordham Mansions, chatting with her airman lover.

  "Of course," he said. "Ortmann and your father were well aware thatMerton Mansfield is still the strongest man in the whole Government, amarvellous organiser, and the really great man upon whom Britain haspinned her faith."

  "They mean to work some evil upon him," the girl said apprehensively."I'm quite certain of it! Cannot we warn him?"

  "I did so. I wrote to him, urging him to take precautions, anddeclaring that a plot was in progress," said Kennedy. "I suppose hissecretary had the letter and probably held it back in order not todisturb him. Secretaries have a habit of doing that."

  Ella, whose cigarette he had just lit, blew a cloud of blue smoke fromher lips, and replied:

  "Well, if that's the case then it is exceedingly wrong. The greatestcare should be taken of those who are leading us to victory. Ah!dearest," she added with a sigh, "you do not know how bitter I feel whenI reflect that my own father is a German and, moreover, a most deadlyenemy."

  "I know, darling, I know," the man responded. "That's the worst of it.To expose the organiser of these conspirators would be to send your ownfather to prison--perhaps to an ignominious end."

  "Yes. All we can do is to watch closely and thwart their devilishdesigns, as far as we are able," the girl said.

  "Unfortunately, I'll have to go back to the air-station to-night, butI'll try to come up again for the week-end."

  Disappointment overspread the girl's face, but a second later shedeclared:

  "In that case I shall go and stay with father over at Barnes, andendeavour to discover what is intended."

  Therefore, that night, after her work at the theatre, she went toTheodore Drost's house at Barnes, instead of returning to the flat atKensington. As she always kept her room there and her visits seemed todelight old Drost, she was always able to keep in touch with Kennedy andso help to frustrate the evil machinations of her father.

  As the days passed she became more than ever confident that anotherdeep-laid plot was in progress. Nor was she mistaken, for, truth totell, Ortmann was having many long interviews with his clever catspaw,the man who posed as the plain and pious pastor of the Dutch Church, oldTheodore Drost.

  An incident occurred about a week later which showed the trend ofevents. The old pastor called one day at that modest, dreary littlehouse close by Wandsworth Common, where Count Ernst von Ortmann, the manwho secretly directed the agents of Germany in England, lived as plainMr Horton whenever he grew tired of his beautiful house in Park Lane.Leading, by the fact of his occupation a dual existence, it wasnecessary for his nefarious purposes that he should frequently disappearinto South London, away from the fashionable friends who knew him as MrHenry Harberton.

  The pair were seated together that evening, smoking and discussing thecause of the failure of Rozelaar and the reason of his death by his ownbomb.

  "Ah! my dear Theodore," exclaimed the Count, in German, throwing himselfback in the old wicker armchair in that cheaply furnished room. "Yourmachine was too elaborate."

  "No, you are mistaken, it was simplicity itself," Drost declared.

  "Could anybody have tampered with it, do you think?"

  "Certainly not. Nobody knew--nobody saw it except ourselves andRozelaar," Drost said.

  "And we very nearly blew ourselves up with it during the test. Do youremember?" laughed Ortmann.

  "Remember! I rather think I do. It was, indeed, a narrow escape. Wewon't repeat it. I'll be more careful, I promise you!" Drost assuredhis paymaster. "Yet I cannot guess how Rozelaar lost his life."

  "Well, we need not trouble. His was not exactly a precious life,Theodore, was it? The fellow knew a little too much, so, for us, it isperhaps best that the accident should have happened."

  "It is not the first time that fatal accidents have happened to thosewho, having served Germany, are of no further use," remarked Drostgrimly.

  And at his remark the crafty Count--the man who directed the Germanoctopus in Britain--smiled, but remained silent.

  Though Ella, still at Barnes, kept both eyes and ears open during theday--compelled, of course, to go to the theatre each evening--yet shecould discover no solid fact which might lead her to find out what wasin progress.

  The Count came very often over to Barnes, and on two or three occasionswas accompanied by a fair-haired young man whose real name wasSchrieber, but who had changed it to Sommer, and declared himself to bea Swiss. Indeed, he had forged papers just as old Drost possessed. Thefabrication of identification-papers--with photographs attached--becamequite an industry in Germany after war had broken out, while manyAmerican passports were purchased from American "crooks" and freshphotographs cleverly superimposed.

  One afternoon the young man Schrieber called, remained talking alonewith Drost for about ten minutes, and then left. Presently the old manentered the drawing-room wherein his daughter was seated writing aletter. In his hand he carried a china vase about fourteen inches high,the dark-blue ornamentation being very similar to a "willow-pattern"plate. It was shaped something like a Greek amphora, and quite ofordinary quality.

  "Ella, dear," said her father, handing her the vase, "I wish you couldget one exactly like this. You'll be able to get it quite easily at oneof the big stores in the West End. A friend of mine has a pair, and hasbroken one."

  "Certainly, dad," was the girl's reply. "I'm going out this afternoon,and I'll take it with me." That afternoon Ella Drost went to severalshops until at last, at one in Oxford Street, she found the exactreplica. They were in pairs, and she was compelled to buy both. Lateron she took them to Barnes, but before doing so she called in at her ownflat and there left the superfluous vase.

  Old Drost seemed highly delighted at securing the exact replica of thebroken ornament.

  "Excellent!" he said. "Excellent! Really, my dear child, I thoughtthat you would have had to get it made. And making things in war-timeis such a very long process."

  "I had a little trouble, but I at last got a clue to where they had beenbought, and there, sure enough, they had one pair still in stock."

  "Excellent! Excellent!" he grunted, and he carried off both the patternvase and its companion to his little den where he usually did hiswriting.

  That same evening, while the taxi was at the door to take Ella to thetheatre, the Count called.

  "Ah! Fraulein!" he cried, as he entered the dining-room where Ellastood ready dressed in her smart coat and hat, as became one who hadbeen so successful in her profession and drew such a handsome salary,much to the envy of her less fortunate fellow-artistes. "Why--you'requite a stranger--always away at the theatre whenever I call. I tooksome friends from the club to see you the night before last. That newwaltz-song of yours is really most delightful--so catchy," he added,speaking in German.

  "Do you like it?" asked the bright, athletic girl who led such a strangesemi-Bohemian life, and was yet filled with constant suspicionconcerning her father. "At first I did not like singing it, because Iobjected to some of the lines. But I see now that everyone
seemsattracted by it."

  "No, Fraulein Ella!" exclaimed the Count, with his exquisite courtesy."The public are not attracted by the song, but by your own _chic_ andcharm."

  "Now, really, Count," exclaimed Ella, "this is too bad of you! If oneof my stall-admirers had said so I would forgive him. But, surely, youknow me too well to think that I care for flattery from you. I havebeen too long on the stage, I assure you. To me applause is merely partof the show. I expect it, and smile and bow when the house claps. Itdoes not fill me with the least personal pride, I assure you. When Ifirst went on the stage it certainly did. But to-day, after being allthese years before the