The Traitor

by Sydney Horler

  “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.

  Chapter XVII

  Mallory Accepts

  Frowning to himself, Peter Mallory went on to join his friend. Alan Clinton shook his hand warmly.

  “My God! Peter, old man, I’m glad to see you,” he said fervently. “I was just telling Miss Allister that I shall know now who are my real friends.”

  Mallory patted him on the shoulder.

  “Well, you’ve no doubt about this particular specimen, I hope?”

  “None whatever. In fact, I’m going to give you the best possible proof of that.”

  “Yes?”

  “Peter, I want you to act as the Accused’s Friend if there is a General Court-Martial.”

  Mallory whistled.

  “But I’m not a barrister, old man.”

  “I realise that. But you know as well as I do the feeling against professional lawyers at courts-martial. You were an officer, and you are now in the Intelligence—”

  “I’ll do it like a shot if you think I am the best man. But it’s a very important job, you know. I shouldn’t like to have the responsibility of Bobby being found guilty through any fault of mine. I must say, Alan, that, so far as I can judge, it looks pretty bad against your boy. You know what Fordinghame is—a good friend, but he’ll press this thing relentlessly, even though you are one of his pals.”

  “I know that,” was the gloomy response, “and that’s why I want you to defend Bobby. You’ll be able to put forward things in his defence that the ordinary professional lawyer would know nothing whatever about.”

  “All right, old man. If you’ve got that amount of confidence in me, I’ll do my best.”

  “I knew you would.”

  The two shook hands.

  ***

  It was after Clinton had finished another whisky-and-soda that he made his impulsive outburst.

  “That girl who was here just now—Rosemary Allister. She’s in love with my boy. Well, she said something in which there may be a certain amount of truth. She said that the mystery at the back of the business could be solved in two directions: one, that Bobby was shielding some one, and the other, that he had been made a cat’s-paw for the real traitor. I’ve got something on my mind, and I simply must get it off,” he added quickly. “Peter, you’ve been to Ronstadt; have you ever heard of Marie Roget since .…?”

  “Never,” was the immediate answer.

  “And yet, she’s still alive. I had a letter signed by her only the other day.”

  “You did? What did she say?”

  The other man groaned.

  “It was more or less a threat of blackmail. She spoke about the ‘happy times’ we spent together seventeen years ago, and hinted that she would be getting into touch with me again. Why?”

  “That’s obvious, surely,” was the answer. “She’s gone back to her old job, and intends to make use of you in some way. With another war likely to break out at any moment, she thinks you will be valuable—especially in your present post. Blackmail is right, Alan.…But what’s this got to do with Bobby?” Mallory broke off.

  “I’ll tell you. Although Bobby went to Pé for a perfectly legitimate reason (at least, from his point of view), I feel certain somehow that he was trapped by this woman, working in conjunction no doubt with some one else
, that the Ronstadt Secret Service worked him into a false position, told him about—” The speaker paused. “Well, what happened to me seventeen years ago, and held that over his head as a threat. You must ask him about it.”

  Mallory leaned forward.

  “Then is it your opinion, Alan, that Bobby did give some valuable information to these people?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s possible—when you think of what I’ve just told you. The point is this: I feel inclined to go to Fordinghame and make a bargain with him.”

  “What kind of bargain could you make?”

  “I’d tell him that—Well, he knows that the plans of the new anti-tank shoulder weapon have been stolen. I’d confess to—”

  “You wouldn’t be such a damned fool, surely! Why, it would be your ruin—besides, you’d get years of penal servitude.”

  “I’m an old man—at least, I feel old; and it would be better for me to be a sacrifice than for my boy.…”

  Mallory stood up.

  “You’re talking nonsense! I won’t listen to another word. If Bobby has played the fool he must face up to it. I’m not going to let an old friend like you make such a preposterous offer. Besides, Fordinghame wouldn’t believe you—it would be useless.”

  “Not even if he knew about Marie Roget?”

  “Of course not. You were a young man then—hot-headed and impetuous. It’s a different thing now. No,” the caller summed up, “we can’t do anything until we see the summary of evidence against Bobby. By the way, did you reply to that letter from Marie Roget?”

  “No.”

  “Did you keep it?”

  “No.”

  “Wise man. Well, Alan, I must be off. Call on me at any time you like. I shan’t let you down.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t, old fellow.” Once again the two friends shook hands.

  Chapter XVIII

  Sensation In Pall Mall