21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series)

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  “I think so,” she declared, looking at herself in the mirror. “Life lasts such a very short time. Why should we brood upon the unhappy side of it? I am fond of you, Guy. I love the thought of our tête-à-tête dinner. I only wish I could cheer some of that gloom away from you.”

  “Yours is the right spirit,” he acknowledged, a slightly softer note in his voice. “All the same, Elida, these days—each one seems to bring its special tragedy.”

  “But the world goes on,” she argued. “Why pretend that we can control it? We cannot. We are puppets, after all. Why not be happy puppets?”

  “A delicious alliteration,” he smiled. “You know that Sabine came to see me at the club to-day?”

  “That was stupid of her,” she said. “Sabine is getting like you. She is taking all this as though it were not only the end of our lives but the end of the world. Tell me the news, if there is any worth hearing.”

  He rang the bell.

  “Your Campari arrives,” he told her, “and your strange Italian Vermouth. And Luigi,” he added, as the dark little man hurried into the room.

  Respectful salutations followed. Luigi served the apéritifs and presented the menu.

  “It is the dinner of the house,” he announced, “but it is good. If you will excuse the risotto, which is a luncheon dish and not usually eaten at this hour, you will find that it is a light one. The Contessa will, I believe, approve.”

  Elida took the menu from Cheshire’s hand. She looked it through and nodded.

  “The asparagus Parmesan, I adore,” she said. “Some fruit afterwards, and coffee, Luigi—strong, hot, black coffee … And now, Guy, what is there serious to tell me? Ronnie is safe? He is still working?”

  “He is still working,” Cheshire assented.

  She shivered a little.

  “I do not think that you have the straightforward brain of a sailor at all,” she declared.

  “Why not?”

  “It is too Jesuitical, the whole affair.”

  “A spy has no conscience,” he told her, “neither has a counter-spy.”

  “What Godfrey Ryson did was terrible,” she said thoughtfully. “Even though Sabine begged and prayed him to do as she wished it was terrible. But you who introduced us, who apparently knew what was going on from the very beginning, why have you spared Ronnie? Why do you keep him there at work? Why do you still allow him to take these tracings which are to be passed on to my people?”

  “Well, for one thing, his guilt was infinitely less than Ryson’s. It was, in fact, scarcely guilt at all, because he was obeying his superior officer.”

  “I think we will not be serious until after dinner,” she declared. “Do you not notice how gay I have become? You know mediaeval Italy was the home of all philosophers. That little company of men and women in their villa near Florence made world history after Boccaccio had set them loose. I have the same spirit. There are still joys in life. I shall cling to them even though now and then I am forced to do evil.”

  “Isn’t this rather a new Elida?” he asked curiously.

  “Perhaps so,” she confessed. “I should like to make you a new Guy. I should like to smooth those hard lines out of your face, bring the kindness back to your eyes, the warmth to your touch, the tenderness to your tone.”

  “Better be careful!”

  “My dear man,” she laughed, “why be careful?”

  “Because Luigi is here with the minestrone.”

  Perhaps Cheshire was really grateful for this fantastic exhibition of Elida’s strange temperament. She was, he knew, in her way sincere. She had all the delightful volatile outlook upon life of the Southern European. She conceived it her duty to life and living to be light-hearted. They gossiped about the past and even the future as though the clouds of disaster had ceased to loom over them or even had ever existed. Afterwards, when they sat side by side on the sofa, she thrust her arm through his.

  “Now let us talk seriously, if we must,” she begged.

  “There is very little that is fresh to tell you,” he said, holding a light to her cigarette. “As you know perfectly well, I am now taking Ryson’s place and you are taking Sabine’s. Next week, perhaps even sooner, I am going to bring you the most important packet of plans and charts of all, but …”

  “Go on, go on,” she cried. “It is just the ‘but’ that I want to know about.”

  “For my own peace of mind in the future, I must be sure that you clearly understand this. Nothing that I pass on to you, nothing that you handle, has been or ever will be absolutely correct.”

  The gaiety faded from her face, her lips trembled.

  “I realise that,” she murmured. “I have always known that you are using me to deceive my own people.”

  “This is my counter-stroke against Sabine for having seduced Ryson, and through him, Hincks, from their duty. By obeying my present instructions, you, Elida, in place of your sister, are making such amends as are possible, and furthermore, you are saving young Hincks’s life and giving him a chance to escape the consequences of his sin.”

  “And Ronnie knows that,” she whispered bitterly.

  “There has been no bargain between us,” Cheshire told her. “I give him the instructions, he hands me over the results.”

  “But he knows that the maps and the figures, that everything he hands over to you is misleading?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Does he know that you are making use of me to pass them on?”

  “I have never told him so.”

  “Well,” she sighed. “I am glad that he has not sunk so low as that, but although I am fond of him it would have been better if he had possessed the courage of his friend, Godfrey Ryson.”

  “Young men are fond of life,” Cheshire reminded her. “Then, too, you must remember he was only carrying out the orders of his superior officer. I am not attempting to excuse his fault but he is at least working out a bitter expiation.”

  “And if I refused now to go on with my part in this business?”

  “The Service, perhaps the world, would have no further use for Commander Ronald Hincks.”

  “An ultimatum?”

  “Precisely.”

  Elida sipped her coffee slowly and deliberately. She withdrew her arm from Cheshire’s to handle her cup and when she had finished she did not replace it. She lit another cigarette and smoked on in silence.

  “It is a hateful thought that I am helping to deceive my country,” she confessed at last.

  “Sabine had every intention of deceiving the country whose hospitality you are both accepting at the present moment to help your own,” he reminded her coldly. “This is your retribution.”

  “And how do you know that I shall not tear up these papers or send them with a little note to explain that I have no faith in their genuineness, and why?”

  “Did you do that with the last packet?”

  “No.”

  “You sent them without comment?”

  “Yes.”

  “There, you see,” he pointed out. “You have told me the truth. I will go further, Elida. You will always tell me the truth. Next time we meet I shall ask you whether you have sent what I give you to-day also without any warning, sent them in the ordinary way. You will answer me and what you say will be the truth.”

  She looked at him half fearfully.

  “I can tell a lie if I choose,” she said.

  “Not to me.”

  She turned away from him.

  “You are a terrible man. Once I was so fond of you, and now I am afraid. What is to come of it all?”

  “How can I tell? The soldier who is flung into the battle line does not waste time thinking of the morrow.”

  “Will there be a to-morrow?” she asked wearily.

  “The chances are even,” he replied. “I only know that I am doing everything a man in my position can to ensure its coming. So are you.”

  “Go on,” she insisted. “You owe me plain truths.”

 
; “You shall have them,” he assented, capturing her hand and holding it. “You know the orders I wear, and I can honestly say that I have earned them. I believe that I have the fighting spirit, yet I hate war like hell and every moment of my life now, every thought, is devoted to preventing it—even at the expense of every principle I have ever cherished.”

  She reflected upon his words for a moment.

  “And what about me?” she asked. “You are making use of me. Am I to forget altogether the ignoble side of what I am doing? Am I to remember only that I am one of your fellow workers in this mission, which, I suppose, after all, is greater than anything personal—this mission for preventing war?”

  “You are,” he assured her firmly. “You have grasped the situation precisely. What you are doing, on behalf of Sabine, is partly retribution, but, beyond that, if it would help my work, I would sacrifice any living being, even though he or she were the nearest and dearest thing in my life.”

  “Exactly how am I helping?” she persisted.

  “In this manner,” he answered. “The man who is for the moment at the head of your nation, genius though he may be, has one fault. He is over-confident. It is a bad fault. You are helping to feed it. When, at the last moment, he knows the truth, the shock will be the greater.”

  “And what about the other?” she asked. “He means so much less to me, but he counts.”

  “You are not in any sort of direct connection with him,” Cheshire pointed out. “He is being dealt with in the same way. They are both receiving information which, if it were correct, would make their success a certainty. Incorrect it would spell disaster. Our northern friend will be quicker to realise the position. He will be the first to change his attitude.”

  “Tell me some more,” she begged. “I need reassurance.”

  “Not now,” he replied. “Within a week or ten days I shall have, as I have already said, a further trust to hand over to you. It will be the most important part of our whole scheme. When that has been studied for twenty-four hours in both capitals, the time will have arrived. The Dictators will be told the truth. They will know then that all this army of spies with which they have flooded the country has bungled. The Dictators will have an entirely different view of the situation put before them. They will be shown a plan of the blow we intend to strike if war comes, which will be paralysing to any hopes they might have had of success. Then will come our moment. Our envoys will change their tone. The conversations will be conducted in a different spirit. We shall give much, we shall expect much, but that much will spell peace. The mistake you make, my dear Elida,” he wound up, “is that you think of yourself as a traitress, whereas you are really a prophetess. You believe that you are engaged in a business of infamy, whereas really you are the Joan of Arc of your people.”

  “You are a pleasant comforter, are you not, dearest Guy?” she said, stroking his arm.

  “I am telling you the truth.”

  “Oh, I wonder,” she answered. “This business of spying defeats me. A man tells a lie for his country’s sake and he is acclaimed a hero. Guy, I wish Ronnie loved me more than his country.”

  “But he doesn’t.”

  “Give me some more coffee,” she begged.

  He poured it out in silence, added the sugar gravely and placed the cup in her hand. She drank it and wiped the tears from her eyes.

  “No, he does not,” she repeated quietly, “and I think I love him for it. The greatest thing in a man’s life is his sense of honour. No woman could be jealous of that. Still, she needs just the right word sometimes. How shall I meet Ronnie, I wonder, when we do come together again?”

  “As lovers,” he told her.

  She rose to her feet joyously. There was a return to her former gaiety about her expression and movements.

  “Give me the papers,” she begged.

  He placed them in the silk bag she was carrying. She closed it with a little gold key from her bracelet.

  “When do we meet again?” she asked softly.

  “When we do meet it will probably be for the last time,” he told her. “You will hear from me, Elida.”

  She clutched his arms.

  “Guy,” she confessed, “I am terrified of the next time and I am terrified of the days that will pass between now and then. Sabine, too, is wretched. You know her well enough to understand that there was nothing between her and Godfrey Ryson, but his suicide was a shock to her. She feels that in a way it was her fault.”

  “You must point out the truth to her,” Cheshire said. “She has less to reproach herself with than she thinks. It was not for her own sake that she made him a traitor. It was for her country’s. He sinned and he paid the penalty.”

  “And what about me?” Elida asked.

  “Remember, you came into this for the sake of Sabine,” he said. “When the crisis is over you will have an English husband, you will be an Englishwoman. You are working for the greatest cause in the world—the cause of peace. Be proud of it, because you are fighting for your own country, too. A war would set them back half a century.”

  “You think that they would not win?”

  He laughed with real gaiety for the first time that evening.

  “Not a chance, my dear Elida!”

  She drew a long breath but the corners of her lips were quivering.

  “What conceit!”

  He drew her arm through his and led her towards the door and along the passage outside. She shivered as she fastened her cape around her.

  “You have had a curious effect upon me to-night, Guy,” she whispered. “I believe, yes, I am sure, that I am nervous.”

  He kissed her upon both cheeks and there was a kindlier look in his eyes than she had seen before for some time. It seemed to her that he was once more a human being.

  “Now,” she said as she drew away, “I feel better able to face the world again.”

  “Nervousness all gone?”

  Her slight grimace was just a little querulous.

  “Very nearly,” she murmured.

  CHAPTER XVII

  Table of Contents

  Elida ran almost light-heartedly down the narrow flight of stairs, pushed open the door and stepped into the cobbled yard. Then she faced the passage and permitted herself a little grimace. It was an ugly spot, with pools of darkness towards the farther end which the lights in the mews failed to penetrate. There was a certain hesitation about her movements now. She was not at all sure that her knees were not trembling. Perfectly absurd, she told herself. The noise of the busy traffic was all around her. It was only these few yards that seemed unlit and desolate. Even with the thought of the taxicab at the other end, her nervousness remained. Almost she yielded to the impulse of retracing her steps. Then she remembered that stern expression on Cheshire’s face which once or twice that evening she had found so frightening. He would lose all confidence in her. It was ridiculous to give in. It was so unreasonable a fit of cowardice. She took her first step forwards. After that it was easier. Half-way down she stopped. She would have called out if she had dared. She made a second effort and conquered. She staggered on, reached the door, opened it and stepped into the mews. With a great breath of relief she realised that the taxi was there waiting. The driver descended from his seat and held open the door. She was safe, after all! How absurd it had been to fear anything. She put her foot on the step.

  “I have not kept you waiting too long?” she asked, smiling.

  She glanced at the man’s face as she spoke and the fear came back. It was not the same driver.

  “Where is the man who drove me here?” she enquired quickly.

  He had moved, as though to cover her possible retreat. He was not an agreeable-looking person and he was also a complete stranger.

  “I am his mate,” he announced. “He was called away. The lady will please step in.”

  Elida hesitated.

  “But why should he be called away?” she demanded. “I engaged him for the evening from Hill’s Gar
age. You are not one of Hill’s men.”

  “Just as good, young lady. Now please—”

  She felt herself being gently impelled into the cab. She turned towards him indignantly. At that moment the door on the other side opened. A rough pair of hands was extended towards her. Before she knew what was happening she was seated at the back by the side of a muffled-up stranger. The driver was already in his place. They started off. Curiously enough, her nervousness had decreased.

  “What do you want?” she asked the man. “How dare you come in here?”

  “I drive with the Contessa a little way,” was the gruff reply. “If she keeps quiet nothing will happen to her.”

  Elida looked eagerly towards the turning in the main street.

  “Why should I keep quiet?” she demanded.

  Something harder than the man’s knuckles seemed screwed into her side. It was underneath her cape that she felt the pressure all the time. Nevertheless, she kept her presence of mind.

  “Is that a revolver?”

  “I do not want to use it,” the man answered. “You have got to come with me to a gentleman who is going to ask you a few questions.”

  “I am going to do nothing of the sort.”

  “I think so. It is not you he wants, though.”

  “What is it then?”

  He inclined his head towards her bag.

  “Your bag,” he said. “Would you like to give it to me?”

  “There is nothing there of any value,” she assured him. “My rings are worth a hundred times more.”

  “We may have your rings as well!”

  They passed a huge electric-light standard. She caught a glimpse of his face and shivered. He was dark with a sallow complexion, over-red lips and he smelt of cheap perfume. His eyes were appraising her viciously. She looked away from him out of the window. They were within a few yards of a busy street. She could see the taxicabs passing up and down. There was even a policeman standing at the corner.

  “I am going to call out,” she cried.

  “I think that you will not,” he answered. “Remember, life for a beautiful young lady like you is worth something. To me it is worth nothing. They may catch me, they may not, but it is a sure and certain thing that with the first sign you give or sound you utter I pull this trigger and you wake up in the other world—if there is one.”