The Traitor

by Sydney Horler

  “I have no statement to give him. All I can say is that I woke up suddenly, saw a dark shape by the side of the bed—and then got snuffed out by—”

  “Some form of gas, I should say,” supplied McColl. “The police-sergeant downstairs says it is the latest device used by the up-to-date burglar.”

  “Burglar.” The repetition of the word rang in her ears. Of course! Then.…

  “Excuse me!” she cried, and, to the gaping astonishment of her father, if not of McColl, whose practice lay largely among girls of Rosemary’s age, station, and outlook, she jumped out of bed and rushed across the room.

  “My keys!” they heard her shout. “Where are my keys?”

  It was not until she had gone helter-skelter to a wardrobe, rummaged there, and come away with a bunch of keys jingling in her hand, that she would vouchsafe any explanation.

  “Wait!” she cried to her father. “I’m worried.”

  They watched her insert one of the keys into the lock of the top drawer of the bureau standing to the right of the fireplace and then pull the drawer out vigorously.

  Rosemary thrust a hand inside.

  “Ah!” she said after a pause, and there was a deep note of thankfulness in the exclamation.

  Chapter XXII

  The Summing-Up

  The Court was crowded when the Judge-Advocate began his summing-up.

  Addressing the members of the court-martial in a voice that was serious to the point of actual gloom, he said:

  “We have now approached the end of a case the gravity of which was, of course, apparent to you from the moment of the start of the trial.

  “I need not point out to you that the future of a brother officer lies in your hands, and that both you and he know how much depends on your verdict.

  “You have all sworn you will well and truly try the accused according to the evidence given before you, and that you will duly administer justice without partiality, favour, or affection. It is a very responsible task which has been committed to you, and I know you will not shirk it.

  “Now, it would be useless for me to deny that the allegations made against the prisoner are most grave. For, in the words of counsel for the defence, they charge this young man of standing, who holds a commission in the military forces of his Majesty and has the honour to serve in a famous corps, with acts of downright treachery to his country.”

  After a brief pause, while he consulted some papers before him, the Judge-Advocate proceeded.

  “Now, the whole case for the prosecution is that the accused received money, and it does not require much intelligence to suppose that he would not have received a quid pro quo for those services which the prosecution alleges unless he had collected, obtained, and communicated something to those persons who paid him the two notes of fifty pounds each.

  “There was no doubt that the accused did receive these two notes, that they were paid him by a certain person in Pé, and that they were afterwards passed through his banking account. That is the first important fact to be considered.

  “The second is that, a short time after he returned from Pé, he travelled to Holland and there, in a hotel at The Hague, handed over to a certain person, who has been identified as an enemy agent, a certain package. Neither of these facts is denied by the prisoner, although he puts a very different complexion on the circumstances attached to them.

  “I would remind the Court that it must not act on surmise or suspicion alone: the duty of the prosecution is that the charges preferred against the accused must be brought home with such a measure of certainty as to exclude all reasonable doubt about his innocence or guilt. Unless the prosecution, in your opinion, has fulfilled that duty, then the accused must go from the Court a free man.”

  Referring to the prisoner’s visit to Ronstadt, the speaker reminded the Court that the prosecution did not say that he went to Pé with any traitorous purpose, or with an idea of doing anything deleterious to the interests of his country. Indeed, on the other hand, he, with the purpose he said he had in mind, ran a certain risk of encountering danger in an entirely different direction.

  “He has told you what seems to be a very straightforward story about the man who called himself ‘Sandor’ but who has been identified by reliable witnesses of the prosecution as a person who has been connected with international espionage since the last years of the late War. It is possible that the prisoner’s story concerning how these two met is correct; it is also possible that the submission of the defence, that this young officer was beguiled by Ronstadt agents into a position where they could have some kind of future hold over him, is correct. You must remember that, even at the present time, twenty-four years is not an age of great sophistication. I mention this particularly when we come to consider the evidence given concerning the prisoner’s association with the woman who called herself ‘Minna Braun.’ The prosecution has told you that the record of the woman shows that during the last year of the War, namely 1918, she was acting as an agent for Germany and performed the usual rôle of such women in this connection—namely, that of a seductress.

  “The defence—which, if I may be allowed to say so, has been conducted with marked ability by Mr. Peter Mallory—contends that the very fact that this woman became so friendly with the accused is supporting evidence of the plot against him hatched by Ronstadt agents. There is certainly much in that submission. The prisoner, on oath, has stated quite frankly that he was considerably attracted to this woman, although he would never have considered the possibility of marrying her. You, as men of the world, will recognise the nice distinction.

  “How much hold did this woman gain over the accused? That, it seems to me, is a very important factor to be considered—I will even go so far as to characterise it as the crux of the whole case. Was it because she had promised him her future favours that he returned to England—before his leave was up and when it might have been thought that he would have been very content to remain in Paris, if only on the off-chance of meeting this woman again?

  “Now, why actually did he return to England? The prosecution alleges that it was because, having already received a hundred pounds, he had been given orders to obtain further information. You know that the prisoner actually returned to his unit at Woolvington, that he explained his unexpected appearance by stating that he was going to attend an Old Boys’ Dinner, that he remained the night at Woolvington and the next day witnessed the trials of a new type of tank. Straight upon that, he returned to London, and that same night crossed to Holland.

  “He has a very plausible reason for making that journey. He has told you that, believing ‘Minna Braun’ was what she pretended to be—namely, a French secret agent—he considered himself bound to return to her the property which she had entrusted to him. That is the reply of the ordinary man of honour. It is for you to decide whether his explanation can overrule in your minds the allegation of the prosecution—namely, that, instead of returning ‘Minna Braun’ the package which she had handed to him in his hotel room at Pé, he supplied the Ronstadt Intelligence with further information, namely, details of the new amphibious tank, the trials of which he had witnessed the day before at Woolvington. We have here two conflicting stories, each of which might be correct.

  “The prosecution has told you that the evidence in this case is mainly circumstantial, and certainly there is no direct evidence that the accused ever took to Ronstadt or Holland any books or documents containing references to military matters.

  “You have observed the accused during the days of the court-martial. You have had ample opportunity to form your own opinions about him. Now the time has come when you must decide if he is, in your opinion, an honourable man, with a keen sense of duty (as the defence has put forward) or whether he is that contemptible creature, very low in humanity’s scale, who, for the sake of money, would betray his country. That is the issue you must decide.

&nbs
p; “The accused has told you that his journey to The Hague was entirely unpremeditated; that, if he had not received the wire signed ‘Adrienne,’ he would not have returned to the Continent. The prosecution, on the other hand, claims that his paymasters had sent him home post-haste and that he took advantage of meeting an old school friend on the Croydon air liner to provide him with a sufficient excuse, when he got back to his unit, of explaining his unexpected return. Whether he ever intended to go to the Old Repingtonians’ dinner or not, the fact remains that he cancelled the appointment.

  “You all, as military officers, are acutely aware of the state of tension existing between the different European countries at the present time. You all possess sufficient military knowledge to realise that each nation is eager to obtain the military secrets of its neighbours—whether it is living on friendly terms at the present time with that particular neighbour, or whether it anticipates being engaged in warfare with the same country at an early date. Consequently, I cannot stress with too much emphasis the fact that, if the accused did give information concerning military weapons, as set out in the two main charges against him, he was guilty of a most heinous crime.

  “With regard to the new type of tank—the subject of the second main charge: this appears to have been officially secret, although it had been exposed to view in manœuvres. It is natural to assume that this young officer, who, I would remind you, has always borne the reputation of being a very keen soldier, would take the greatest possible interest in this new type of tank. There is as much to be said in support of the defence as there is in support of the claim of the prosecution.

  “Stress has been laid on the fact that, although, according to his own statement, the prisoner went to The Hague for the express purpose of handing over to ‘Minna Braun’ the package which she had entrusted to him at Pé, he, in point of strict fact, did not do so. The package was handed to a third person. In reply to this, the accused has told you that the messenger brought with him a letter which he was able to identify as being in the writing of ‘Minna Braun,’ and consequently he considered that this emissary would do just as well as the woman herself. It is for you to say whether you believe that statement or not.

  “To conclude, my last words to you are these:

  “Has the case for the prosecution produced in your mind such a measure of certainty as to exclude such reasonable doubt as would cause you to hesitate to take an ineradicable step in some event of great importance in your own lives?

  “Mr. Mallory, in his final speech for the defence, warned you of the terrible responsibility resting on your shoulders. The entire future of this young officer is in your hands. Declare him guilty, and he will be banished into that outer darkness from which there can be no possible recall; acquit him of these grave charges, and there is no reason to suspect that he will not be taken back into the confidence and friendship of his brother officers. No reason whatever. His fate rests with you.

  “On the other hand, it is my duty to tell you that no personal consideration should deflect you from the path of your duty—in other words, if the evidence you have heard leads, in your own minds, to an inevitable conclusion of guilt, then the decision you are bound to face, however distasteful, is to pronounce sentence strictly according to the oath you have taken.

  “If you cannot bring yourselves to such a conclusion, a conclusion which the prosecution must bring home definitely to your minds, then the accused officer will leave this court free of the dreadful imputations which these charges involve, and it will be borne to the world outside that he has not been proved by a court of his fellow officers to be guilty of any act of treachery.”

  There was a deep silence as the Judge-Advocate sat down.

  The Court then adjourned.

  Chapter XXIII

  The Secret Writing

  As the different members of the court-martial rose and went out by the door behind the President, Rosemary felt her temples throbbing. She realised she would have to abandon hope. There could be only one result of the trial, and that would be a verdict of “Guilty.”

  She had been sustained until now, but the whispered words of her Chief, Sir Brian Fordinghame, as he sat down by her side, brought both fear and desolation.

  “The experts say there is nothing on either,” Fordinghame stated, passing over the two sheets of lightish blue paper over which she had expended so much hope.

  This was the end, then. Her intuition—that same intuition on which she had so prided herself—had been proved wrong; it had let her down badly.

  ***

  The night before, disregarding the protests of both Dr. McColl and her father, she had got up from bed as soon as she was able and, dressing, had gone down to the library. There was a book there which she wanted to consult. During the few hours that remained before the court-martial proceedings restarted she would read up everything possible on the subject of spies and secret writing.

  It was that night’s intruder who had given her the idea. The man must have been after the package. There was nothing else in her room of any value, apart from a few jewels, and he had ignored those. No, he must have come for the package.

  Why?

  Because—the answer, to her mind, was obvious—it was of vital importance to some person or group of persons—to a foreign country. Then, if it had this importance, it must also be of paramount value to the court-martial.

  She had imagined she could see more or less clearly now what before had been so dark: Bobby must have been given this package by mistake. How this blunder had been committed she could not tell, of course, but, as she continued to throw on a few clothes, her heart seemed to stop beating when she realised how narrowly the papers had escaped total destruction.

  On the night that Bobby had refused to give her his complete confidence—when, for some unaccountable reason, he had lied to her—she had been strongly tempted to throw the wretched package into the fire. Why not? The whole thing was a bluff. What possible value could there be in two perfectly blank sheets of paper?

  Sir Brian Fordinghame would be able to decide, of course; but, before meeting her Chief at the office, she herself had wanted to master, as far as was possible, the fascinating subject of Secret Writing. For that was what these sheets contained, she had felt certain—secret writing. That seemed the answer to the puzzle.

  Locking herself in the library (she had still felt groggy, but had fought hard against the sense of nausea), she had gone to the shelf on which she remembered having seen the book, and had taken down a heavy volume, on the back of which was printed The Arts and Crafts of Modern Espionage. How Fordinghame would have smiled if he could have seen her! Everything between these two covers was known to him, she supposed.

  Still, she hadn’t minded about that; she had wanted to discover the possible secret for herself. The thumping of her father’s hand on the door had been disregarded.

  “Look here, Rosemary, Dr. McColl isn’t at all pleased with you—neither am I,” she had heard her bewildered parent wail.

  This was intolerable.

  “Oh, do go away, father, and leave me alone!” she had cried. “Haven’t I told you I have some important work to do?”

  “What—at this time in the morning?” Matthew Allister’s business hours were ten to five and he rarely exceeded them. On the few occasions that he broke this rule he protested that the end of the world must be coming.

  “Yes; it’s to do with the court-martial and its secret.”

  Outside the door, the banker turned to look at Dr. McColl and shook his head.

  “She always did do what she wanted to do—I wish her mother hadn’t died.”

  With her eyes fixed on the print, and her fingers swiftly turning the pages, Rosemary had become absorbed in the chapter devoted to this special branch of modern espionage. With morbid fascination she had read of the tremendous use to which various kinds of secre
t inks had been put by spies in the Great War. While the many forms of sympathetic or “invisible” inks had been known for centuries, she discovered, their development for Secret Service purposes had not been generally utilised until after 1914. Even the Germans, who were supposed to be past masters at every branch of espionage, had not developed this particular kind of spy communication to any great extent. There was one case of a German agent, she read, whose life—and, what was of more concern to his employers than his life, the vitally important information he had secured—might have been saved if his instructors had given him, in the early days of the War, even an elementary insight into the uses of secret ink.

  Rosemary, feeling more certain every moment that her intuition was correct concerning the two sheets of paper resting by her left hand, had then become informed through the medium of the authority she was reading that the German Secret Service, once they realised the importance of invisible inks, used at first very informally onion, lemon-juice, and even saliva. These liquids, whose properties were physical rather than chemical (the writer continued) could readily be made visible to the counter-spy either by treatment with iodine vapour or by colouring baths.

  She had stopped to look at the two sheets of apparently blank paper which, before many hours were past, she was determined should be placed before experts. Did the honour and freedom of the boy she loved depend on whether her surmise was correct? She believed so.

  Turning back to the book, she had read:

  It was early in 1915 that the first of the truly invisible inks began to appear. For it was not until then that the Germans discovered how easily their secret correspondence was being read by the Allies. Once this discovery was made, they called in many expert chemists—but there were equally clever brains on the other side, and as quickly as a new ink was invented the secret was solved by French and British chemists.

  It naturally followed that the inks with which German spies were provided became more and more scientific.…