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

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  A new tenseness seemed to have crept into the situation. The conversation, never without its emotional tendencies, at once changed its character. Philippa, cold and reserved, with a threat lurking all the time in her tone and manner, became its guiding spirit.

  “We may enquire your name?” she asked.

  “I am the Baron Maderstrom,” was the prompt reply. “For the purpose of my brief residence in this country, however, I fancy that the name of Mr. Hamar Lessingham might provoke less comment.”

  “Maderstrom,” Philippa repeated. “You were at Magdalen with my brother.”

  “For three terms,” he assented.

  “You have visited at Wood Norton. It was only an accident, then, that I did not meet you.”

  “It is true,” he answered, with a bow. “I received the most charming hospitality there from your father and mother.”

  “Why, you are the friend,” Helen exclaimed, suddenly seizing his hands, “of whom Dick speaks in his letter!”

  “It has been my great privilege to have been of service to Major Felstead,” was the grave admission. “He and I, during our college days, were more than ordinarily intimate. I saw his name in one of the lists of prisoners, and I went at once to Wittenberg.”

  A fresh flood of questions was upon Helen’s lips, but Philippa brushed her away.

  “Please let me speak,” she said. “You have brought us these letters from Richard, for which we offer you our heartfelt thanks, but you did not risk your liberty, perhaps your life, to come here simply as his ambassador. There is something beyond this in your visit to this country. You may be a Swede, but is it not true that at the present moment you are in the service of an enemy?”

  Lessingham bowed acquiescence.

  “You are entirely right,” he murmured.

  “Am I also right in concluding that you have some service to ask of us?”

  “Your directness, dear lady, moves me to admiration,” Lessingham assured her. “I am here to ask a trifling favour in return for those which I have rendered and those which I may yet render to your brother.”

  “And that favour?”

  Their visitor looked down at his torn attire.

  “A suit of your brother’s clothes,” he replied, “and a room in which to change. The disposal of these rags I may leave, I presume, to your ingenuity.”

  “Anything else?”

  “It is my wish,” he continued, “to remain in this neighbourhood for a short time—perhaps a fortnight and perhaps a month. I should value your introduction to the hotel here, and the extension of such hospitality as may seem fitting to you, under the circumstances.”

  “As Mr. Hamar Lessingham?”

  “Beyond a doubt.”

  There was a moment’s silence. Philippa’s face had become almost stony. She took a step towards the telephone. Lessingham, however, held out his hand.

  “Your purpose?” he enquired.

  “I am going to ring up the Commandant here,” she told him, “and explain your presence in this house.”

  “An heroic impulse,” he observed, “but too impulsive.”

  “We shall see,” she retorted. “Will you let me pass?”

  His fingers restrained her as gently as possible.

  “Let me make a reasonable appeal to both of you,” he suggested. “I am here at your mercy. I promise you that under no circumstances will I attempt any measure of violence. From any fear of that, I trust my name and my friendship with your brother will be sufficient guarantee.”

  “Continue, then,” Philippa assented.

  “You will give me ten minutes in which to state my case,” he begged.

  “We must!” Helen exclaimed. “We must, Philippa! Please!”

  “You shall have your ten minutes,” Philippa conceded.

  He abandoned his attitude of watchfulness and moved back on to the hearth-rug, his hands behind him. He addressed himself to Philippa. It was Philippa who had become his judge.

  “I will claim nothing from you,” he began, “for the services which I have rendered to Richard. Our friendship was a real thing, and, finding him in such straits, I would gladly, under any circumstances, have done all that I have done. I am well paid for this by the thanks which you have already proffered me.”

  “No thanks—nothing that we could do for you would be sufficient recompense,” Helen declared energetically.

  “Let me speak for a moment of the future,” he continued. “Supposing you ring that telephone and hand me over to the authorities here? Well, that will be the end of me, without a doubt. You will have done what seemed to you to be the right thing, and I hope that that consciousness will sustain you, for, believe me, though it may not be at my will, your brother’s life will most certainly answer for mine.”

  There was a slight pause. A sob broke from Helen’s throat. Even Philippa’s lip quivered.

  “Forgive me,” he went on, “if that sounds like a threat. It was not so meant. It is the simple truth. Let me hurry on to the future. I ask so little of you. It is my duty to live in this spot for one month. What harm can I do? You have no great concentration of soldiers here, no docks, no fortifications, no industry. And in return for the slight service of allowing me to remain here unmolested, I pledge my word that Richard shall be set at liberty and shall be here with you within two months.”

  Helen’s face was transformed, her eyes glowed, her lips were parted with eagerness. She turned towards Philippa, her expression, her whole attitude an epitome of eloquent pleading.

  “Philippa, you will not hesitate? You cannot?”

  “I must,” Philippa answered, struggling with her agitation. “I love Dick more dearly than anything else on earth, but just now, Helen, we have to remember, before everything, that we are English women. We have to put our human feelings behind us. We are learning every day to make sacrifices. You, too, must learn, dear. My answer to you, Baron Maderstrom—or Mr. Lessingham, as you choose to call yourself—is no.”

  “Philippa, you are mad!” Helen exclaimed passionately. “Didn’t I have to realise all that you say when I let Dick go, cheerfully, the day after we were engaged? Haven’t I realised the duty of cheerfulness and sacrifice through all these weary months? But there is a limit to these things, Philippa, a sense of proportion which must be taken into account. It’s Dick’s life which is in the balance against some intangible thing, nothing that we could ever reproach ourselves with, nothing that could bring real harm upon any one. Oh, I love my country, too, but I want Dick! I should feel like his murderess all my life, if I didn’t consent!”

  “It occurs to me,” Lessingham remarked, turning towards Philippa, “that Miss Fairclough’s point of view is one to be considered.”

  “Doesn’t all that Miss Fairclough has said apply to me?” Philippa demanded, with a little break in her voice. “Richard is my twin brother, he is the dearest thing in life to me. Can’t you realise, though, that what you ask of us is treason?”

  “It really doesn’t amount to that,” Lessingham assured her. “In my own heart I feel convinced that I have come here on a fool’s errand. No object that I could possibly attain in this neighbourhood is worth the life of a man like Richard Felstead.”

  “Oh, he’s right!” Helen exclaimed. “Think, Philippa! What is there here which the whole world might not know? There are no secrets in Dreymarsh. We are miles away from everywhere. For my sake, Philippa, I implore you not to be unreasonable.”

  “In plain words,” Lessingham intervened, “do not be quixotic, Lady Cranston. There is just an idea on one side, your brother’s life on the other. You see, the scales do not balance.”

  “Can’t you realise, though,” Philippa answered, “what that idea means? It is part of one’s soul that one gives when one departs from a principle.”

  “What are principles against love?” Helen demanded, almost fiercely. “A sister may prate about them, Philippa. A wife couldn’t. I’d sacrifice every principle I ever had, every scrap of self-respect
, myself and all that belongs to me, to save Dick’s life!”

  There was a brief, throbbing silence. Helen was feverishly clutching Philippa’s hand. Lessingham’s eyes were fixed upon the tortured face into which he gazed. There were no women like this in his own country.

  “Dear lady,” he said, and for the first time his own voice shook, “I abandon my arguments. I beg you to act as you think best for your own future happiness. The chances of life or death are not great things for either men like your brother or for me. I would not purchase my end, nor he his life, at the expense of your suffering. You see, I stand on one side. The telephone is there for your use.”

  “You shan’t use it!” Helen cried passionately. “Phillipa, you shan’t!”

  Philippa turned towards her, and all the stubborn pride had gone out of her face. Her great eyes were misty with tears, her mouth was twitching with emotion. She threw her arms around Helen’s neck.

  “My dear, I can’t! I can’t!” she sobbed.

  CHAPTER V

  Table of Contents

  Philippa’s breakdown was only momentary. With a few brusque words she brought the other two down to the level of her newly recovered equanimity.

  “To be practical,” she began, “we have no time to lose. I will go and get a suit of Dick’s clothes, and, Helen, you had better take Mr. Lessingham into the gun room. Afterwards, perhaps you will have time to ring up the hotel.”

  Lessingham took a quick step towards her,—almost as though he were about to make some impetuous withdrawal. Philippa turned and met his almost pleading gaze. Perhaps she read there his instinct of self-abnegation.

  “I am in command of the situation,” she continued, a little more lightly. “Every one must please obey me. I shan’t be more than five minutes.”

  She left the room, waving back Lessingham’s attempt to open the door for her. He stood for a moment looking at the place where she had vanished. Then he turned round.

  “Major Felstead’s description,” he said quietly, “did not do his sister justice.”

  “Philippa is a dear,” Helen declared enthusiastically. “Just for a moment, though, I was terrified. She has a wonderful will.”

  “How long has she been married?”

  “About six years.”

  “Are there—any children?”

  Helen shook her head.

  “Sir Henry had a daughter by his first wife, who lives with us.”

  “Six years!” Lessingham repeated. “Why, she seems no more than a child. Sir Henry must be a great deal her senior.”

  “Sixteen years,” Helen told him. “Philippa is twenty-nine. And now, don’t be inquisitive any more, please, and come with me. I want to show you where to change your clothes.”

  She opened a door on the other side of the room, and pointed to a small apartment across the passage.

  “If you’ll wait in there,” she begged, “I’ll bring the clothes to you directly they come. I am going to telephone now.”

  “So many thanks,” he answered. “I should like a pleasant bedroom and sitting room, and a bathroom if possible. My luggage you will find already there. A friend in London has seen to that.”

  She looked at him curiously.

  “You are very thorough, aren’t you?” she remarked.

  “The people of the country whom it is my destiny to serve all are,” he replied. “One weak link, you know, may sometimes spoil the mightiest chain.”

  She closed the door and took up the telephone.

  “Number three, please,” she began. “Are you the hotel? The manager? Good! I am speaking for Lady Cranston. She wishes a sitting-room, bedroom and bath-room reserved for a friend of ours who is arriving to-day—a Mr. Hamar Lessingham. You have his luggage already, I believe. Please do the best you can for him.—Certainly.—Thank you very much.”

  She set down the receiver. The door was quickly opened and shut. Philippa reappeared, carrying an armful of clothes.

  “Why, you’ve brought his grey suit,” Helen cried in dismay, “the one he looks so well in!”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Philippa scoffed. “I had to bring the first I could find. Take them in to Mr. Lessingham, and for heaven’s sake see that he hurries! Henry’s train is due, and he may be here at any moment.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Helen promised. “I’ll smuggle him out of the back way, if you like.”

  Philippa laughed a little drearily.

  “A nice start that would be, if any one ever traced his arrival!” she observed. “No, we must try and get him away before Henry comes, but, if the worst comes to the worst, we’ll have him in and introduce him. Henry isn’t likely to notice anything,” she added, a little bitterly.

  Helen disappeared with the clothes and returned almost immediately, Philippa was sitting in her old position by the fire.

  “You’re not worrying about this, dear, are you?” the former asked anxiously.

  “I don’t know,” Philippa replied, without turning her head. “I don’t know what may come of it, Helen. I have a queer sort of feeling about that man.”

  Helen sighed. “I suppose,” she confessed, “I am the narrowest person on earth. I can think of one thing, and one thing only. If Mr. Lessingham keeps his word, Dick will be here perhaps in a month, perhaps six weeks—certainly soon!”

  “He will keep his word,” Philippa said quietly. “He is that sort of man.”

  The door on the other side of the room was softly opened. Lessingham’s head appeared.

  “Could I have a necktie?” he asked diffidently. Philippa stretched out her hand and took one from the basket by her side.

  “Better give him this,” she said, handing it over to Helen. “It is one of Henry’s which I was mending.—Stop!”

  She put up her finger. They all listened.

  “The car!” Philippa exclaimed, rising hastily to her feet. “That is Henry! Go out with Mr. Lessingham, Helen,” she continued, “and wait until he is ready. Don’t forget that he is an ordinary caller, and bring him in presently.”

  Helen nodded understandingly and hurried out.

  Philippa moved a few steps towards the other door. In a moment it was thrown open. Nora appeared, with her arm through her father’s.

  “I went to meet him, Mummy,” she explained. “No uniform—isn’t it a shame!”

  Sir Henry patted her cheek and turned to greet his wife. There was a shadow upon his bronzed, handsome face as he watched her rather hesitating approach.

  “Sorry I couldn’t catch your train, Phil,” he told her. “I had to make a call in the city so I came down from Liverpool Street. Any luck?”

  She held his hands, resisting for the moment his proffered embrace.

  “Henry,” she said earnestly, “do you know I am so much more anxious to hear your news.”

  “Mine will keep,” he replied. “What about Richard?”

  She shook her head.

  “I spent the whole of my time making enquiries,” she sighed, “and every one was fruitless. I failed to get the least satisfaction from any one at the War Office. They know nothing, have heard nothing.”

  “I’m ever so sorry to hear it,” Sir Henry declared sympathetically. “You mustn’t worry too much, though, dear. Where’s Helen?”

  “She is in the gun room with a caller.”

  “With a caller?” Nora exclaimed. “Is it any one from the Depot? I must go and see.”

  “You needn’t trouble,” her stepmother replied. “Here they are, coming in.”

  The door on the opposite side of the room was suddenly opened, and Hamar Lessingham and Helen entered together. Lessingham was entirely at his ease,—their conversation, indeed, seemed almost engrossing. He came at once across the room on realising Sir Henry’s presence.

  “This is Mr. Hamar Lessingham—my husband,” Philippa said. “Mr. Lessingham was at college with Dick, Henry, so of course Helen and he have been indulging in all sorts of reminiscences.”

  The two men shook hands.<
br />
  “I found time also to examine your Leech prints,” Lessingham remarked. “You have some very admirable examples.”

  “Quite a hobby of mine in my younger days,” Sir Henry admitted. “One or two of them are very good, I believe. Are you staying in these parts long, Mr. Lessingham?”

  “Perhaps for a week or two,” was the somewhat indifferent reply. “I am told that this is the most wonderful air in the world, so I have come down here to pull up again after a slight illness.”

  “A dreary spot just now,” Sir Henry observed, “but the air’s all right. Are you a sea-fisherman, by any chance, Mr. Lessingham?”

  “I have done a little of it,” the visitor confessed. Sir Henry’s face lit up. He drew from his pocket a small, brown paper parcel.

  “I don’t mind telling you,” he confided as he cut the string, “that I don’t think there’s another sport like it in the world. I have tried most of them, too. When I was a boy I was all for shooting, perhaps because I could never get enough. Then I had a season or two at Melton, though I was never much of a horseman. But for real, unadulterated excitement, for sport that licks everything else into a cocked hat, give me a strong sea rod, a couple of traces, just enough sea to keep on the bottom all the time, and the codling biting. Look here, did you ever see a mackerel spinner like that?” he added, drawing one out of the parcel which he had untied. “Look at it, all of you.”

  Lessingham took it gingerly in his fingers. Philippa, a little ostentatiously, turned her back upon the two men and took up a newspaper.

  “Lady Cranston does not sympathize with my interest in any sort of sport just now,” Sir Henry explained good-humouredly. “All the same I argue that one must keep one’s mind occupied somehow or other.”

  “Quite right, Dad!” Nora agreed. “We must carry on, as the Colonel says. All the same, I did hope you’d come down in a new naval uniform, with lots of gold braid on your sleeve. I think they might have made you an admiral, Daddy, you’d look so nice on the bridge.”

  “I am afraid,” her father replied, with his eyes glued upon the spinner which Lessingham was holding, “that that is a consideration which didn’t seem to weigh with them much. Look at the glitter of it,” he went on, taking up another of the spinners. “You see, it’s got a double swivel, and they guarantee six hundred revolutions a minute.”