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

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  “A what?”

  “A joy ride,” he repeated. “A cousin of mine is in command of a destroyer, and she was under orders to sail for New York. He hadn’t the slightest right, really, to bring a passenger, as she was coming over on a special mission, but I had word about the trip over here, so I slipped on board late one night—not a word to any one, you understand—and—well, here I am. A more awful voyage,” he went on impressively, “you couldn’t imagine. I was sore all over within twenty-four hours of starting. There’s practically no deck on those things, you know, for sitting out or anything of that sort. The British Navy’s nowhere for comfort, I can tell you. The biggest liner for me, going back!”

  Pamela was still a little dazed. Lutchester’s story did not sound in the least convincing. For the moment, however, she accepted his account of himself.

  “Tell me now,” she begged, “about Captain Graham?”

  “You haven’t heard, then?”

  “I have heard nothing. How should I hear?”

  “I took him straight back to my rooms after we left you,” Lutchester began. “He was in an awful state of nerves and drugs and drink. Then I put him to bed as soon as I could, and rang up a pal of mine at the War Office to take him in hand.”

  “Do you believe,” she asked curiously, “that he had really been robbed of his formula?”

  “Those amiable people who were interviewing him in the chapel seemed to think so,” Lutchester observed.

  “But you! What do you think?” she persisted. He smiled in superior fashion.

  “I find it rather hard to bring myself to believe that any one would take the trouble,” he confided. “I have heard it said in my department that there have been thirty-one new explosives invented since the beginning of the war. Two of them only are in use, and they’re not much better than the old stuff.”

  Pamela nodded understandingly.

  “All the same,” she remarked, “I am not at all sure that was the case with Captain Graham’s invention. There were rumours for days before that something wonderful was happening on Salisbury Plain. They had to cover up whole acres of ground after his last experiments, and a man who was down there told me that it seemed just as though the life had been sucked out of it.”

  “Where did you collect all this information?” her visitor inquired.

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “One hears everything in London.”

  Lutchester was sitting with his finger-tips pressed together. For a moment his attention seemed fixed upon them.

  “There are things,” he said, “which one hears, too, in the far corners of the world—on the Atlantic, for instance.”

  “You have had some news?” she interrupted.

  “It is really a private piece of information,” he told her, “and it won’t be in the papers—not the way the thing happened, anyway—but I don’t suppose there’s any harm in telling you, as we were both more or less mixed up in the affair. Graham was shot the next day, on his way up to Northumberland.”

  “Shot?” she exclaimed incredulously.

  “Murdered, if you’d like the whole thrill,” Lutchester continued. “Of course, we didn’t get many particulars in the wireless, but we gathered that he was shot by some one passing him in a more powerful car on a lonely stretch of the Great North Road.”

  Pamela shuddered. She was for the moment profoundly impressed. A certain air of unreality which had hung over the events of that night was suddenly banished. The whole tragedy rose up before her eyes. The effect of it was almost stupefying.

  “Gave me quite a shock,” Lutchester confided. “Somehow or other I had never been able to take that night quite seriously. There was more than a dash of melodrama in it, wasn’t there? Seems now as though those fellows must have been in earnest, though.”

  “And as though Captain Graham’s formula,” she reminded him gravely, “was the real thing.”

  “Whereupon,” Lutchester observed, “our first interest in the affair receives a certain stimulus. Some one stole the formula. To judge from the behaviour of those amiable gentlemen connected with Henry’s Restaurant, it wasn’t they. Some one had been before them. Have you any theories, Miss Van Teyl?”

  “I can tell you who has,” she replied. “Do you remember when we were all grouped around that notice—Mefiez-vous! Taisez-vous! Les oreilles ennemies vous ecoutent!?”

  “Of course I do,” he assented.

  “Do you remember Baron Sunyea making a remark afterwards? He had been standing by and heard everything Graham said.”

  “Can’t say that I do,” Lutchester regretted, “but I remember seeing him about the place.”

  “You promise to say or do nothing without my permission, if I tell you something?” she went on.

  “Naturally!”

  “See, then, how diplomacy or secret service work, or whatever you like to call it, can gather the ends of the world together! Only a quarter of an hour ago that Japanese valet of my brother’s, having searched my rooms in vain, demanded from me that formula!”

  “From you?” Lutchester gasped. “But you haven’t got it!”

  “Of course not. On the other hand Sunyea pitched upon me as being one of the possible thieves, and cabled his instructions over.”

  “Have you got it?” he asked abruptly.

  “If I had,” she smiled, “I should not tell you.”

  “But come,” he expostulated, “the thing’s no use to you.”

  “So Baron Sunyea evidently thought,” she laughed. “We’ll leave that, if you don’t mind.”

  Lutchester was still looking a little bewildered.

  “I had an idea when I came in,” he muttered, “that things were a little scrappy between you and the Japanese gentleman.”

  She was suddenly serious.

  “Now that I have told you the truth,” she said, “I really ought to thank you. You certainly seem to have a knack of appearing when you are wanted.”

  “Fluke this time, I’m afraid,” he acknowledged, “but I rather like the suggestion. You ought to see a great deal of me, Miss Van Teyl. Do you realise that I am a stranger in New York, and any hospitality you can show me may be doubly rewarded? Are you going to take me round and show me the sights?”

  “Are you going to have any time for sight-seeing?”

  “Well, I hope so. Why not? A fellow can’t do more than a certain number of hours’ work in a day.”

  She looked at him curiously.

  “And yet,” she murmured, “you expect to win the war!”

  “Of course we shall win the war,” he assured her confidently. “You haven’t any doubt about that yourself, have you, Miss Van Teyl?”

  “I don’t know,” she told him calmly.

  Lutchester was almost horrified. He rose to his feet and stood looking down at his companion.

  “Tell me what on earth you mean?” he demanded. “We always win in the long run, even if we muddle things about a little.”

  “I was just contrasting in my mind,” she said thoughtfully, “some of the Germans whom I have met since the war, with some of the Englishmen. They are taking it very seriously, you know, Mr. Lutchester. They don’t find time for luncheon parties or sight-seeing.”

  “That’s just their way,” he protested. “They turn themselves into machines. They are what we used to call suckers at school, but you can take my word for it that before next autumn they will be on the run.”

  “You call them suckers,” she observed. “That’s because they’re always working, always studying, always experimenting. Supposing they got hold of something like this new explosive?”

  “First of all,” he told her, “I don’t believe in it, and secondly, if it exists, the formula isn’t in their hands.”

  “Supposing it is in mine?” she suggested. “I might sell it to them.”

  “I’d trust you all the time,” he laughed lightheartedly. “I can’t see you giving a leg up to the Huns…. Will you lunch with me at one o’cl
ock to- morrow, please?”

  “Certainly not,” she replied. “You must attend to your work, whatever it is.”

  “That’s all very well,” he grumbled, “but every one has an hour off for luncheon.”

  “People who win wars don’t lunch,” she declared severely. “Here’s Jimmy—I can hear his voice—and he’s brought some one up with him. I’ll—let you know about lunch.”

  The door opened. James Van Teyl and Fischer entered together.

  CHAPTER XIII

  Table of Contents

  The first few seconds after the entrance of the two men were monopolised by the greetings of Pamela with her brother. Fischer stood a little in the background, his eyes fixed upon Lutchester. His brain was used to emergencies, but he found himself here confronted by an unanswerable problem.

  “Say, this is Mr. Lutchester, isn’t it?” he inquired, holding out his hand.

  “The same,” Lutchester assented politely. “We met at Henry’s some ten days ago, didn’t we?”

  “Mr. Lutchester has brought us a letter from Dicky Green, Jimmy,” Pamela explained, as she withdrew from her brother’s arms. “Quite unnecessary, as it happens, because I met him in London just before we sailed.”

  “Very glad to meet you, Mr. Lutchester,” Jimmy declared, wringing his hand with American cordiality. “Dicky’s an old pal of mine—one of the best. We graduated in the same year from Harvard.”

  Conversation for a few minutes was platitudinous. Van Teyl, although he showed few signs of his recent excesses, was noisy and boisterous, clutching at this brief escape from a situation which he dreaded. Fischer on the other hand, remained in the back-ground, ominously silent, thinking rapidly, speculating and theorising as to the coincidence, if it were coincidence, of finding Lutchester and Pamela together. He listened to the former’s polite conversation, never once letting his eyes wander from his face. All his thoughts were concentrated upon one problem. The mysterious escape of Sandy Graham, which had sent him flying from the country, remained unsolved. Of Pamela’s share in it he had already his suspicions. Was it possible that Lutchester was the other and the central figure in that remarkable rescue? He waited his opportunity, and, during a momentary lull in the cheerful conversation, broke in with his first question.

  “Say, Mr. Lutchester, you haven’t any twin brother, have you?”

  “No brother at all,” Lutchester admitted.

  “Then, how did you get over here? You were at Henry’s weren’t you, on the night the Lapland sailed? You didn’t cross with us, and there’s no other steamer due for two days.”

  “Then I can’t be here,” Lutchester declared. “The thing’s impossible.”

  “Guess you’ll have to explain, if you want to save me from a sleepless night,” Fischer persisted.

  Lutchester smiled. He had the air of one enjoying the situation immensely.

  “Well,” he said, “I have had to confess to Miss Van Teyl here, so I may as well make a clean breast of it to you. To every one else I meet in New York, I shall say that I came over on the Lapland. I really came over on a destroyer.”

  Fischer’s face seemed to become more set and grim than ever.

  “A British destroyer,” he muttered to himself.

  “It was kind of a joy ride,” Lutchester explained confidentially, “a cousin of mine who was in command came in to see me and say good-by, just after I’d received my orders from the head of my department to come out here on the next steamer, and he smuggled me on board that night. Mum’s the word, though, if you please. We asked nobody’s leave. It would have taken about a month to have heard anything definite from the Admiralty.”

  “A British destroyer come across the Atlantic, eh?” Mr. Fischer muttered. “She must have come out on a special mission, then, I imagine.”

  “That is not for me to say,” Lutchester observed, with stiff reticence.

  Pamela suddenly and purposely intervened. She turned towards Fischer.

  “Mr. Lutchester brought some rather curious news,” she observed. “He got it by wireless. Do you remember all the fuss there was about the disappearance of Captain Holderness’ friend at Henry’s?”

  “I heard something about it,” he admitted grimly.

  “Well, Captain Graham was in my party, so naturally I was more interested than any one else. To all appearance he entered Henry’s Restaurant, walked up the stairs, and disappeared into the skies. The place was ransacked everywhere for him, but he never turned up. Well, the very next day he was murdered in a motor-car on his way to Northumberland.”

  “Incredible!” Fischer murmured.

  “Seems a queer set out,” Lutchester remarked, “but it’s quite true. He was supposed to have discovered a marvellous new explosive, the formula for which had been stolen. He was on his way up to Northumberland to make fresh experiments.”

  “For myself I have little faith,” Fischer observed, “in any new explosives. In Germany they believe, I understand, that the limit of destructiveness has been attained.”

  “The Germans should know,” Lutchester admitted carelessly. “I’m afraid they are still a good deal ahead of us in most scientific matters. I will take the liberty, of calling some time to-morrow, Miss Van Teyl, and hope I shall have the pleasure of improving my acquaintance with your brother. Good night, Mr. Fischer.”

  “Are you staying in the hotel?” the latter inquired.

  “On the fifteenth floor,” was the somewhat gloomy reply. “I shan’t be able to shave in front of the window without feeling giddy. However, I suppose that’s America. Good-by, everybody.”

  With a little inclusive and farewell bow he disappeared. They heard him make his way down the corridor and ring for the lift. Rather a curious silence ensued, which was broken at last by Pamela.

  “Is that,” she asked, throwing herself into an easy-chair and selecting a cigarette, “just an ordinary type of a nice, well-bred, unintelligent, self- sufficient Englishman, or—”

  “Or what?” Fischer asked, with interest.

  Pamela watched the smoke curl from the end of her cigarette.

  “Well, I scarcely know how to finish,” she confessed, “only sometimes when I am talking to him I feel that he can scarcely be as big a fool as he seems, and then I wonder. Jimmy,” she went on, shaking her head at him, “you’re not looking well. You’ve been sitting up too late and getting into bad habits during my absence. Open confession, now, if you please. If it’s a girl, I shall give you my blessing.”

  Van Teyl groaned and said nothing. A foreboding of impending trouble depressed Pamela. She turned towards Fischer and found in his grim face confirmation of her fears.

  “What does this mean?” she demanded.

  “Your brother will explain,” Fischer replied. “It is better that he should tell you everything.”

  “Everything?” she repeated. “What is there to tell. What have you to do with my brother, anyway?” she added fiercely.

  “You must not look at me as though I were in any way to blame for what has happened,” was the insistent reply. “On the contrary, I have been very lenient with your brother. I am still prepared to be lenient—upon certain conditions.”

  The light of battle was in Pamela’s eyes. She fought against the significance of the man’s ominous words. This was his first blow, then, and directed against her.

  “I begin to understand,” she said. “Please go on. Let me hear everything.”

  Van Teyl had turned to the sideboard. He mixed and drank off a whisky and soda. Then he swung around.

  “I’ll make a clean breast of it in a few words, Pamela,” he promised. “I’ve gambled with Fischer’s money, lost it, forged a transfer of his certificates to meet my liabilities, and I am in his power. He could have me hammered and chucked into Sing Sing, if he wanted to. That’s all there is about it.”

  Pamela stood the shock well. She turned to Fischer.

  “How much of this are you responsible for?” she asked.

  “T
hat,” he objected, “is an impotent question. It is not I who had the moulding of your brother’s character. It is not I who made him a forger and a weakling.”

  Van Teyl’s arm was upraised. An oath broke from his lips. Pamela seized him firmly and drew him away.

  “Be quiet, James,” she begged. “Let us hear what Mr. Fischer is going to do about it.”

  “That depends upon you,” was the cold reply.

  Pamela stood at the head of the table, between the two men, and laughed. Her brother had sunk into a chair, and his head had dropped moodily upon his folded arms. She looked from one to the other and a new sense of strength inspired her. She felt that if she were not indeed entirely mistress of the situation, yet the elements of triumph were there to her hand.

  “This is living, at any rate,” she declared. “First of all I discover that your Japanese servant is a spy—”

  “Nikasti!” Van Teyl interrupted furiously. “Blast him! I knew that there was something wrong about that fellow, Fischer.”

  Fischer frowned.

  “What’s he been up to?” he inquired.

  “Well, to begin with,” Pamela explained, “he searched my room, then he locked me in here, and was proceeding to threaten me when fortunately Mr. Lutchester arrived.”

  “Threaten you—what about?” Fischer demanded.

  “He seemed to have an absurd idea,” Pamela explained sweetly, “that I might have somewhere concealed upon my person the formula which was stolen from Captain Graham last Monday week at Henry’s Restaurant. It makes quite a small world of it, doesn’t it?”

  “I will deal with Nikasti for this,” Fischer promised, “if it is true. Meanwhile?”

  “No sooner have I got over that little shock,” Pamela went on, “than you turn up with this melodramatic story, and an offer from Mr. Fischer, which I can read in his face. Really, I feel that I shall hear the buzz of a cinema machine in a moment. How much do you owe him, Jimmy?”

  “Eighty-nine thousand dollars,” the young man groaned.

  “I’ll write you a cheque to-morrow morning,” Pamela promised. “Will that do, Mr. Fischer?”