“Yes—I see. But—suppose you should fall in love with Tom yourself? I—I’d be afraid of you, Condesa!”
“I would make el Coronel Tom theenk I loved him, my dear—an’ you also would theenk so until we ’ave the final laugh. But, for me, there is one man in all the world. He is married man. I shall never have him—even if hees wife die, he might never marry me. But once, he save’ my life an’ nearly lost hees own. From then, I am loving him more than everything in the world! With other men, I flirt to pass the time. Si! Why not? But none of them shall have me—except that one. When Andalusians really love, eet ees forever!”
Lady Parker’s eyes were star-like with admiration. “Oh! That is something perfectly ideal, Condesa! I—I could love Tom like that if—if I thought he cared for me the same way! I suppose I mustn’t try to guess who it is?”
“It ees better not, my dear. If you desire, I shall flirt weeth your ’usband, an’ distrac’ hees mind. But I will not love heem—I promise you that. You shall stan’ behind the scenes an’ see the game. When you tire of it, I will stop playing.”
About one o’clock in the morning, a clerk in the hotel office—very well liked by the guests, on account of his pleasant manner and ability for straightening out their various grievances—went quietly from his room in the employees’ quarters up to the roof over the Haymarket side. As one of those who conducted the business of the hotel, his presence in any part of it, at any hour, would have been accepted as being in the line of his duties. So also, to a lesser extent, the third-floor chambermaid, Betty—who appeared upon the roof a few moments later, gazing into the murky atmosphere overhead in a terrified search for bomb-dropping zeppelins.
The few detached areas of flat roof, above the curved and sloping mansards, had been protected in a way that made demolition of the building unlikely. Their surface had been covered to a depth of three feet with bags of sand—and above the mansards which sloped toward the inner courts had been stretched a canopy of steel wire netting. After the one rather disastrous raid of German dirigibles, two watchmen had been stationed on the roofs, each night, to warn guests upon the upper floors in case of another—but their services had been discontinued after a while because of their doubtful utility in such an emergency. So that—excepting some of the help whose fears or curiosity impelled them to go up at night for a look around—the roofs were deserted.
As Betty stepped cautiously over the sand bags toward one of the farther chimneys, she stopped to gaze upward as if looking for a dirigible. Her actions were so entirely natural that, had anyone been watching her, it is doubtful if he would have been suspicious. Eventually, she stepped around behind a massive chimney—where Mr. James Crofton, the office clerk, was imperturbably smoking an excellent cigar.
As he noticed the direction from which she had approached, he started, apprehensively.
“Gott! Bettina! You came over the middle of those bags—yess?”
“Why, of course I did! Suppose anyone had been watching? It would never do to give an impression of skulking about, up here!”
“So? Better that risk than get blown to the devil before you have accomplished your work! Look you, Bettina! At every yard distance, all over this roof, is a bag of sand in which there are one or more sticks of dynamite. Your weight upon the loosely packed sand is sufficient to explode a stick, if it happened to come just right! If one explodes, they’ll all go off! When just one little bomb from a zeppelin happens to drop on this roof, it must surely set off all the dynamite! There’s enough of it up here to destroy every building within a hundred yards! I’ve planted those sticks, one at a time, and if we hear an explosion in another part of the city, we must get out of this hotel as quickly as we can dress!”
“Ach, Gott! Johann—this is terrible! It is not as if we were killing the English soldiers! If your dynamite goes off, it will kill all these pretty little children in the hotel—the young girls, just coming to their marrying time. They have done Germany no harm!”
“Woman—such talk is foolishness! Those kinder will grow up to be Englander men and women—mothers of Englander soldiers! They must be taught to fear Germany! That fear must be foremost in the mothers’ minds—so the children will be marked with it! They must know it iss not safe to defy the kaiser as they haf done!”
“But, look you, Johann—these English only swear to fight us the more when we do such things! There has been no trouble in recruiting since the zeppelins came! I have been here much longer than you, and our campaigns of ‘frightfulness’ have had just the opposite effect from what we expected!”
“Ach! You are a woman! You cannot understand these things like the officers of our General Staff! But enough! Tell me what you haf discovered among the papers of the Condesa.”
“Suppose you tell me, Johann, why you thought there might be anything of interest to us among them?”
“I am told by Karl Berndorf that the Condesa’s family were practically unknown before she married the Conde de la Montaneta, six years ago—which is suspicious. Spanish grandees do not marry that sort of women, except morganatically. She hass, with her, four servants who are supposed to be Moors. They talk with each other in Arabic—very true—but in much too pure Arabic for the Moors of Tangier or Cadiz, where Madame came from. Since her arrival in London she hass become quite intimate with some of the most brominent men and women in the country—she could scarcely haf brought letters that would haf secured such an entrée for her in a space of seven or eight weeks. She spends money as if her wealth were almost unlimited—yet Berndorf was quite possitive that the old Conde’s estates in Andalusia had become very much curtailed before his death. I don’t know, exactly, what to make of her, myself. Her Castilian iss so perfect that she must be Spanish, and yet——”
“She is probably of the Austrian Court circle, my friend—with a family dating back to Charles Fifth, or earlier, which accounts for her Spanish blood and home. And she is of Wilhelmstrasse, like ourselves—only far higher in authority. By the ring she wears, I think she must be one of the Imperial Special Agents. One of her Moorish maids caught me going through the papers in her desk, and held a knife against my ribs for three long hours—until Madame returned. I thought I must be drugged or dreaming when she casually gave me the first recognition sign—it made me feel like a fool! Getting caught at her papers like a clumsy sneak-thief, when some of those Cabinet men are probably dropping Government secrets to her which neither you nor I could get if our lives depended upon it! Oh, they wouldn’t know they were telling her anything dangerous for England! Trust her for that! But the woman is a hypnotist and a mind-reader. She said that the Herr Chudleigh Sammis had told her there were three of us in this hotel—and I’m beginning to think she must have been working with him in influencing the Cabinet Ministers.”
“Himmel! And I never even dreamed! It explains those Moorish servants, too! They must be high-caste Hindu revolutionists—the sort who will stop at nothing so long as they smash the English Raj! Valuable tools, if one knows how to handle them! Look you, Bettina! The Condesa hass become most intimate with Lady Parker—the Herr Colonel iss fascinated with her; I saw him looking at her as she talked with her ladyship in the foyer, last night. Why wouldn’t she haf a better chance than you to obtain the plans from him?”
“She might—if he were anywhere near her own rank. But—women of her position do not go as far as those in our station of life—to obtain what Wilhelmstrasse requires. They will risk and sacrifice life—yes, if necessary. But giving themselves is something they are not likely to do. I’ll admit that they’re often successful, without.”
“Er—you would pay the price, if necessary—Bettina?”
“That’s something you’ll never know—it’s none of your business! I think I can make the Colonel tell me anything I want to know—when the conditions are just right. But if I can’t, I’ll ask Madame’s assistance; you need have no doubts upon tha
t score! Katrina heard Her Ladyship accepting an invitation for charity bridge to-morrow afternoon—when the Colonel is likely to be at Aldershot—and he asked me if I would come to their suite about three, with the vacuum-cleaner. He’s quite sure to be there.”
* * *
—
On the following day Lady Parker motored away from the hotel at half-past two—Sir Thomas being presumably at Aldershot. It occurred to her that he might run up to the city earlier than usual and amuse himself with the pretty chambermaid if she happened to be on duty at that hour—but the Condesa had talked to such good purpose that she believed it merely a passing foolishness upon her husband’s part which she would better ignore, and she was dwelling with mischievous anticipation upon his punishment for it when the Condesa herself should take a hand. So she was in no hurry to return before it was time to dress for dinner.
At a few moments after three, Betty—in her dainty apron and short black skirt—came to Sir Thomas’s door with the reel of vacuum-hose and long nozzle, letting herself in with a pass-key but taking care to bolt the door on the inside. As on a previous occasion, the Colonel was at his desk in the sitting room. While pointing out what he wished done, he managed to get a half-reluctant kiss or two that made him hungry for more. Presently, he told her to let the cleaning go for a while—and drew her down upon the sofa by his side.
“Betty, you use a dev’lish sight better language than any hotel chambermaid I ever saw! I’d be quite int’rested, don’t you know, if you’d tell me all about yourself an’ how you happen to be in such a position as this. Might be able to help you on a bit, d’ye see—one never can say. I fancy your family are a cut above the ord’n’ry lot—what?”
“Oh, my people were really very decent, sir. My father was a younger son of Major Bundy, who served in the Crimea—one of the Dorset Bundys, you know. There wasn’t money enough to purchase a commission for him after his eldest brother went into the Guards, so he took orders and was appointed curate of a small parish on the Shaftesbury estates. He was made rector when we girls were in our ’teens, but died a year afterward—and of course, left us practically nothing. The living was a small one. My mother died several years before, and my sister married a small tradesman in Southampton. So there was nothing left for me to do but go out in service. We’d been decently educated, of course—I could have obtained a position as governess, but the wages are not so high as I get here, and I have a few hours to myself, every day. These grand hotels require maids who have some education—enough taste to assist the guests with their clothes, if necessary—and present an attractive appearance. When my father was living, my social position was good enough to permit of my calling upon any family in the county—while now, I’m a servant, and must know my place. But I’m much more independent, here, and am putting by a good bit of money each month. In a few years I shall go to America and open a little millinery shop. Over there I’m as good as anybody.”
“Faith, and so you are in London—if people only knew it! I suppose you make a bit in tips, as well?”
“Perhaps more than you’d think, Sir Thomas. To a girl who has scrimped and denied herself even necessities while trying to be a lady on nothing a year, it’s quite too ridiculous to have a fat dowager give one half a sovereign merely for selecting her most becoming gown, and turning her out at her very best for some dinner party! And the men! Why, I’ve had an old duke give me three sovereigns for promising to forget all about it after I’d slapped his face for trying to kiss me!”
“Eh? What’s that? Do you mean to say it’s an ord’n’ry occurrence for men to—er—take advantage of your position—and—er—kiss you? My word!”
“No. There’s a difference—between kissing one and—well—trying to do it.”
“But what—eh? Dash it all, you know—I’ve—eh? And I believe I’ve never tipped you a penny—as yet! Leave all that sort of thing to Her Ladyship, don’t you know! Of course, if I’d known about your family—inexcusable liberty, you know! Quite welcome to slap me if you wish! And—er——”
“I trust, Sir Thomas, that you’ve too much taste and good sense to offer me money, now that you know something of my private affairs. I permitted you to do what you did because you have always treated me kindly—never taken a low advantage of me. There’s no great harm in your kissing me, I fancy—but if you were seen doing it, I should probably lose my position here. I should have to complain of you to the management. Rather than have any trouble with a wealthy guest, they’d give me the sack.”
“Faith, you need have no fears upon that score! If they discharged you, I’d find something better at once—or see that you had a good start in some other place. I say, Betty—er—do you know, I—I think an awful lot of you! ’Pon honor, I do! I say! Would it be possible for me to see you outside, anywhere? When do you—er—get out of the hotel? Where do you go?”
“I have three evenings off each week. Sometimes I go to a cinema show with two of the other maids. Occasionally, Mr. Crofton takes me out to a burlesque—or to one of the Strand restaurants for dinner. Or we go to a dance hall, where he teaches me the latest steps.”
“Crofton? You mean the clark in the hotel office? Decent young fellow, that! You’re not engaged to him—what?”
“No fear! Why did you wish to know that?”
“Well—d’ye see—after all, y’know, Crofton’s merely a middle-class chap—not your sort, really. And—er—I’d jolly well like to have you go about with me—if we can manage it. And—er——”
“You couldn’t take me to a theatre, Sir Thomas, or any public place where Her Ladyship might see us. Of course, when I am dressed for the street or for an evening out, I fancy no one in the hotel would recognize me. But still, Her Ladyship must be very well known in London society.”
“Er—quite so, my dear. But I’ve cousins and other women relatives, d’ye see, whom I freq’ntly show the sights when they’re up for a day or so. If Her Ladyship happens to run across us—most unlikely, don’t you know—I can introduce you as one of ’m—or—er—one of a brother officer’s family, d’ye see?—up from Aldershot for the evenin.’ Eh? Meet me to-morrow evenin’ in the lounge at the Cecil—an’ we’ll go somewhere for dinner—make a night of it. Eh? You will? That’s jolly! Now—eh? Just one more kiss to seal the bargain?”
For a second or two her lips clung to his with a warmth that made him dizzy; then she was gone. He sat down at his desk and foolishly tried to fix his attention upon the papers he had been examining.
* * *
—
Two weeks later she accompanied him to his town house in order that he might show her some books and pictures which he had recently purchased. The decorators had finished their work. His butler had been up from Hampshire, superintending the cleaning for a day or two, and had finally returned—leaving the house ready for occupancy at any time he should be ordered to bring up the requisite staff of servants. A watchman inspected the premises, outside, at intervals—but the Colonel had told him that he should be working late, that night, with his private secretary. They had the house to themselves.
She had met him, that evening, in a chiffon gown of dark green which amazed him by its perfect taste and the way it set off her blonde prettiness. How she had managed to dress in such a garment in the servants’ quarters of a hotel he couldn’t understand. [She had really gone, with her maid’s uniform covered by a mackintosh, to the house of a very respectable widow in Soho—a place which had been a secret rendezvous of German spies since the third month of the war—and changed there.] They had dined at a quiet but famous restaurant just off Pall Mall, and the Colonel had taken rather more than his usual allowance of champagne. When he produced two cobwebby bottles of Burgundy from his own cellar she made no remonstrance—but, had he noticed it, there was a calculating look in her eyes. She had learned, before this, about how much stimulation was needed to loosen his tongue—but the exa
ct point at which mind and memory became oblivious to what he did was still a little uncertain. How far to let him go in his drinking—where to stop him before he became drowsily speechless—was a matter of nice calculation.
Early that afternoon the Condesa had motored to the Trevor mansion in Park Lane. Had any of her acquaintances been in the drawing room when she was admitted—presumably to call upon Lady Trevor—they would have been much astonished by the liberties she took. Running upstairs to Her Ladyship’s boudoir, she closed the door and called up the Foreign Office, asking the operator to “put her on” to the private office of Sir Edward Wray, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. In a moment his voice came over the wire, saying that he would motor out to Park Lane at once. She received him in the big library on the ground floor fifteen minutes later.
“What mare’s nest have you been stirring up, Nan?”
“You’ve been looking up Colonel Sir Thomas Parker, as I asked?”
“Aye—but there’s nothing fishy that we can discover—except his weakness for women. An’ that’s hereditary, you know.”
The Big Book of Espionage Page 25
