Kitabı oku: «John Dene of Toronto: A Comedy of Whitehall», sayfa 12

"Exactly as Sage advises," was the terse response.

"Why, you're as bad as he is," grumbled Mr. Llewellyn John. "Still, I suppose I must do as you suggest. I don't like the look of things, however. It's invariably the neglected trifle that wrecks a government."

The mysterious disappearance of John Dene was made the subject of special consideration at a meeting of the War Cabinet. It was urged that the curious nature of the circumstances exonerated the Prime Minister and the First Lord of the Admiralty from the personal pledge they had given to John Dene, and that it was a matter of vital national importance that the Destroyer should be put into commission with the least possible delay.

Mr. Llewellyn John looked interrogatingly across at Sir Lyster Grayne, who shook his head decisively.

"We have given a personal pledge," he said, "under no circumstances whatever to communicate or endeavour to communicate other than by wireless with the island of Auchinlech for the period of four months from the date of our undertaking. The words 'under no circumstances whatever' admit of only one interpretation."

"But," protested Sir Roger Flynn, the Home Secretary, "Mr. Dene could not have foreseen his own disappearance. Circumstances surely alter the aspect of the case," he urged.

"If you, Flynn, were to promise under no circumstances to move from this room, then fire or flood would not justify you in breaking that promise," said Sir Lyster with decision. He was notorious for his punctiliousness in matters of personal honour. "What was possible to the Roman sentry is imperative with responsible Ministers," he added.

Mr. Llewellyn John nodded, and made a mental note of the phrase.

"Besides," continued Sir Lyster, "Mr. Dene was particularly emphatic on this point. I recall his saying to the Prime Minister, 'When I say under no circumstances, I mean under no circumstances,' and he went on to expound his interpretation of the phrase."

"But," persisted Sir Roger, "if the majority of the War Cabinet take the opposite view, then you and the Prime Minister would be absolved from your promise."

"Nothing can absolve a man from his personal pledge," was Sir Lyster's calm retort. "He can be outvoted politically; but he has always his alternative, resignation."

Mr. Llewellyn John looked up quickly. "I think," he said, "that Grayne is right. Nothing can absolve us from our pledge."

"The point is," said Sir Roger, "what is happening at Auchinlech?" He fixed an almost accusing eye upon Sir Lyster Grayne, who merely shook his head with the air of one who has been asked an insoluble conundrum.

"Here we are," continued Sir Roger indignantly, "with a weapon that would exercise a considerable effect in bringing victory nearer, debarred from using it because —

"The Prime Minister has given his word," interpolated Sir Lyster quietly.

Sir Roger glared at him. "Death nullifies a contract of this description," retorted Sir Roger.

"But the Prime Minister is not yet dead," said Sir Lyster drily.

Mr. Llewellyn John started slightly. He did not like these references to death and resignation.

"In law – " began Sir Roger.

"This is not a matter of law, but of a private promise." Sir Lyster was insistent.

"I think, gentlemen, you are looking at it from different points of view," interrupted Mr. Llewellyn John with a tactful smile. "Let us hope that Mr. John Dene will be found. If it can be proved he is dead, then we shall be fully justified in sending to Auchinlech, acquainting his second-in-command with what has happened, and instructing him to assume command of the Destroyer in accordance with Mr. Dene's wishes."

The matter was then dropped, although it was clear that the members of the War Cabinet were not at one on the subject either of John Dene or his disappearance.

The Home Secretary promised personally to urge the police to greater efforts.

Slowly and with infinite labour Scotland Yard sifted the enormous volume of evidence that poured in upon it, proving conclusively that John Dene had been seen in every part of the United Kingdom, not to mention a number of places on the Continent. Police officers swore and perspired as they strove to grapple with this enormous problem. Night and day they worked with the frenzy of despair. They cursed the war, they cursed the colonies, they cursed John Dene. Why had he not stayed in Toronto and disappeared there, if he must disappear anywhere. Why had he come to London to drive to desperation an already over-worked department?

One thing that the police found particularly embarrassing was that constables were constantly being called upon, by enthusiastic and excited members of the public, to arrest inoffensive citizens on the suspicion of their being John Dene of Toronto. In some instances the constables would point out that no resemblance existed; but the invariable reply was that the object of suspicion was disguised.

All these false scents were duly reported to headquarters through the local police-stations, with no other result than to increase the sultriness of the atmosphere at Scotland Yard.

An elaborate description of John Dene was sent to every coroner and mortuary-attendant in the country. The river police were advised to keep a sharp look-out for floating bodies. In its heart of hearts Scotland Yard yearned to discover proof of the death of John Dene, whilst all the time it worked steadily through the deluge of correspondence, and listened patiently to the testimonies of the avaricious optimists who were convinced that they, and they alone, could supply the necessary information that would lead to the discovery of the whereabouts of John Dene, and transfer to themselves the not inconsiderable sum of £20,000.

"If ever another blighter comes from Toronto," remarked Detective-Inspector Crabbett, as he mopped his brow, "it would be worth while for the Yard to subscribe £20,000 for him to disappear quietly." Having thus relieved his feelings he plunged once more into the opening of letters, letters that convinced him that the whole population of Great Britain and Ireland had gone suddenly mad.

Articles appeared in many of the German newspapers upon the subject of the mysterious disappearance of John Dene. A great point was made of the fact that he was an inventor, and was known to be in close touch with the British war chiefs. Emphasis was laid upon the extraordinary efforts being made to discover his whereabouts. "It is inconceivable," said the Koelnische Zeitung, "that the anxiety of the relatives of the missing man could have prompted them to offer a reward of 400,000 marks for news of his whereabouts, and that within two days of his disappearance. Imagine a private citizen in Germany being absent from home for two days, and his friends offering this colossal reward for news of him. What would be said?" The writer went on to point out that behind this almost hysterical anxiety of the English to find John Dene lay a mystery that, whatever its solution might be, was certainly not detrimental to German interests.

The Vorwärts hinted darkly at something more than John Dene having disappeared, a something that was so embarrassing the British authorities, as to be likely to have a very serious influence upon the conduct of the war.

The Berliner Tageblatt openly stated that the British Admiralty was offering the reward, and left its readers to draw their own conclusions. "Victory," it concluded, "is not always won with machine-guns and high-explosive. Fitness to win means something more than well-trained battalions and valiant soldiers; it means a perfect organisation in every department of the great game of war; violence, bluff and intrigue. The country with the best-balanced machinery was the country that would win, because it was fit to win."

In Germany, where everybody does everything at the top of his voice, italics are very popular. An excitable people think and live italics, and a daily newspaper either reflects its public or ceases to be.

With great tact the Paris papers limited themselves to the "news" element in John Dene's disappearance, reproducing his portrait, with the details translated from the London dailies.

The neutral press was frankly puzzled. Those favourable to Germany saw in this incident a presage of victory for the Fatherland; whilst the pro-Allies journals hinted at the fact that someone had blundered in giving such publicity to an event that should have been regarded as a subject for the consideration of the War Cabinet rather than for the daily press.

CHAPTER XV
MR. LLEWELLYN JOHN BECOMES ALARMED

I

Mr. Llewellyn John was obviously troubled. With the forefinger of his right hand he tapped the table meditatively as he gazed straight in front of him. The disappearance of John Dene was proving an even greater source of embarrassment to the War Cabinet than the internment of aliens. The member of parliament who translated his duty to his constituents into asking as many awkward questions as possible of the Government, found a rich source of inspiration in the affaire John Dene.

Mr. Llewellyn John disliked questions; but never had he shown so whole-hearted an antipathy for interrogation as in the case of John Dene. The fact of the Home Secretary being responsible for the answers constituted an additional embarrassment, as Sir Roger Flynn was frankly critical of his chief in regard to the disappearance of John Dene. He had not been consulted in the matter of offering a reward, as he should have been, and he was piqued.

His answers to the questions that seemed to rain down upon him from all parts of the House were given in anything but a conciliatory tone, and the method he adopted of "dispatching them in batches like rebels," as Mr. Chappeldale put it, still further alienated from the Government the sympathy of the more independent members. In this Mr. Llewellyn John saw a smouldering menace that might at any time burst into flame.

He had come to wish with deep-rooted earnestness that Sir Roger Flynn would take a holiday. He had even gone to the length of suggesting that the Home Secretary was not looking altogether himself; but Sir Roger had not risen to the bait.

"Ah! here you are," cried Mr. Llewellyn John with a smile, that in no way mirrored the state of his feelings, as Sir Roger entered, and with a nod dropped into a chair.

"Eight more questions on the paper," he said grimly. "I suppose you appreciate the seriousness of it all."

"What would you suggest doing?" enquired Mr. Llewellyn John tactfully.

"Get a new lock for the stable door now the horse is gone," was the uncompromising retort.

"I've asked Colonel Walton to step round," said Mr. Llewellyn John, ignoring his colleague's remark.

"It's all that fellow Sage," grumbled Sir Roger. "I went round to see him yesterday, and he was as urbane as a money-lender."

"But surely you wouldn't quarrel – "

"I always quarrel with a fool who doesn't see the consequences likely to arise out of his folly," said Sir Roger.

"If he would only play golf," murmured Mr. Llewellyn John plaintively.

"He'd resign at the first green because someone had shouted 'fore.' The man's a freak!" Sir Roger was very downright this morning.

"I wish we had a few more of the same sort," was Mr. Llewellyn John's smiling rejoinder.

Sir Roger grumbled something in his throat. Malcolm Sage was too often in antagonism with his Department for the Home Secretary to contemplate with anything but alarm a multiplicity of Sages.

Mr. Llewellyn John, who deeply commiserated with those heads of departments who had suffered from Malcolm Sage's temperament, was always anxious to keep him from coming into direct touch with other Ministers: the invariable result was a protest from the Minister, and resignation from Malcolm Sage.

Once he had been summoned before the War Cabinet to expound and explain a certain rather complicated enquiry in connection with a missing code-book. Before he had been in the room five minutes he had resigned.

At Scotland Yard he was known as "Sage and Onions," the feebleness of the jeu d'esprit being to some extent mitigated by the venom with which it was uttered. Nothing short of the anti-criminal traditions of the Yard had saved Malcolm Sage from assassination at the hands of its outraged officials.

His indifference was to them far more galling than contempt. He seemed sublimely unconscious of the fact that he was not popular with the police officials, a circumstance that merely added to the dislike with which he was regarded.

There was much to be said for Scotland Yard, which was called upon to carry out instructions from "a pack of blinking amachoors," as one of Sage's most pronounced antagonists had phrased it. Added to which was the fact that they were dealing with a man who seemed entirely unable to discriminate between courtesy and venomous hatred. Like the German nation, the officials discovered that there was little virtue in a hymn of hate that was not recognised as such.

"It's no good scrapping a man because he doesn't keep to your own time-table," said Mr. Llewellyn John, mentally making a note of the phrase for future use.

Sir Roger had remarked that the Prime Minister lay awake half the night coining phrases which would not win the war.

"This John Dene has caused more trouble at the Home Office than all the rest of the war put together." Sir Roger was obviously in a bad temper.

"We must learn to think Imperially, my dear Flynn."

The Home Secretary made a movement of impatience. "There'll be murder at Scotland Yard one of these days," he announced. "That fellow Sage goads the officials there to madness."

"And yet he's so popular with his own men," said Mr. Llewellyn John. "At Department Z. they would do anything for him."

"Well, I wish they'd do it and keep him there."

Whilst Mr. Llewellyn John and Sir Roger Flynn were discussing Department Z., Colonel Walton was seated at his table drawing diagrams upon the blotting paper, and Malcolm Sage sat opposite, engaged in the never-ending examination of his finger-nails.

"The Skipper's got the wind up, Sage," said Colonel Walton.

"I expected as much."

"I've got to go round there in a quarter of an hour. Sir Roger's trying to force his hand."

"Let him," said Malcolm Sage.

Colonel Walton shook his head with a smile. "That's all very well, Sage; but it isn't the language of diplomacy."

"Ours isn't the department of diplomacy, chief. Why not promise him something dramatic in a few weeks' time? That's bound to appeal to him." For a moment a fugitive smile flittered across Sage's features. "I think," he added, "we shall surprise him."

"In the meantime we must be diplomatic," said Colonel Walton. "That's why I'm not taking you with me this morning."

"You think I'd resign," queried Sage with an odd movement at the corners of his mouth.

"I'm sure of it," was the response, as Colonel Walton rose. "I suppose you know," he continued, "that Scotland Yard is absolutely congested. You can have no idea of what Sir Roger said when I met him in Whitehall yesterday."

"If it's anything at all like what comes through to me – " and Malcolm Sage shrugged his shoulders.

Ten minutes later Colonel Walton was shown into Mr. Llewellyn John's room.

"Ah! here you are," cried Mr. Llewellyn John, as he motioned Colonel Walton to a seat. "Is there any news?"

"None, sir," was the response.

"This is getting very serious, Walton," said Mr. Llewellyn John, "something really must be done."

"Have you tried Scotland Yard, sir?" asked Colonel Walton evenly, looking across at Sir Roger, who made a movement as if to speak, but evidently thought better of it.

"I didn't mean that as a rebuke, Walton," said Mr. Llewellyn John diplomatically. "But this John Dene business is really most awkward. Scotland Yard has apparently been entirely disorganised through your advertisements, and Sir Roger has just been telling me that there are eight more questions down on the paper for to-day. Every day the Admiralty endeavours to call up Auchinlech by wireless," continued Mr. Llewellyn John, "but they can get no response."

"The thing is, where is John Dene?" demanded Sir Roger, speaking for the first time, and looking at Colonel Walton, as if he suspected him of having the missing man secreted about his person.

"I think the popular conception of the detective is responsible for all the trouble," said Colonel Walton quietly, looking from Sir Roger to the Prime Minister.

"What do you mean?" demanded Sir Roger.

"I think Sage expressed it fairly accurately," continued Colonel Walton, "when he said that if a man disappears, or a criminal is wanted, the detective is always expected to produce him as a conjurer does a guinea-pig out of a top hat."

"It isn't that," said Mr. Llewellyn John irritably. "It's the reward that's causing all the trouble."

"What is the detective for if it's not to solve mysteries?" demanded Sir Roger aggressively.

"I think that is a question for Scotland Yard, sir," said Colonel Walton.

Sir Roger flushed angrily, and was about to speak when Mr. Llewellyn John stepped into the breach.

"You know, Walton, we have to consider the political aspect," he said.

"What is Department Z.'s conception of the detective then?" demanded Sir Roger.

"To watch for the other side's mistakes and take advantage of them," was the reply, "just as in politics," with a smile at Mr. Llewellyn John.

Mr. Llewellyn John nodded agreement.

"You remember the Winthorpe murder case, Sir Roger?"

"I do," said the Home Secretary.

"There Scotland Yard tracked a man who had been three weeks at large. He made the mistake of calling somewhere for his washing, and the police had been watching the place for three weeks."

"That's all very well," said Sir Roger, obviously annoyed. "But you must remember, Colonel Walton, that this John Dene business has a political significance. It's – it's embarrassing the Government."

"But while they are worrying about that," remarked Colonel Walton imperturbably, "they're dropping the 'intern all aliens' cry."

Mr. Llewellyn John smiled.

"I'm convinced," he said, "that there's quite a large section of the public that would like me to intern everybody whose name is not Smith, Brown, Jones or Robinson."

"Or Sage," suggested Colonel Walton slyly.

"Sage!" cried Mr. Llewellyn John, "he ought to be in the Tower. But seriously, Walton. What I want to know is how long this will last?"

"In all probability until the full four months have expired," was the rejoinder.

"Good heavens!" cried Mr. Llewellyn John in consternation.

"I should not be alarmed, sir, if I were you," said Colonel Walton with a smile. "The public will soon get another cry. Sage suggests they may possibly hang an ex-minister."

Mr. Llewellyn John laughed. Colonel Walton's reference was to a previous Prime Minister who on one occasion had enquired of a distinguished general if he had ever contemplated the effect on the public of the possibility of Great Britain losing the war. "They'd hang you, sir," the general had replied, leaning forward and tapping the then Prime Minister on the knee with an impressive forefinger.

For a few moments there was silence, broken at length by Sir Roger.

"But that does not relieve my congested Department," he said complainingly.

"I'm afraid," said Colonel Walton, turning to Mr. Llewellyn John, "that it's impossible for Department Z. to work along any but its own lines. If Sage and I do not possess the confidence of the War Cabinet, may I suggest that we be relieved of our duties."

"Good heavens, Walton!" cried Mr. Llewellyn John. "Surely you're not going to start resigning."

"In the light of Sir Roger's remark, it's the only course open for me," was the dignified retort, as Colonel Walton rose.

"No, no," murmured Mr. Llewellyn John, looking across at the Home Secretary. "You must remember, Walton, that Sir Roger has had a very trying time owing to – to these – advertisements, and – and – "

He paused and again he looked expectantly at Sir Roger, who seemed engrossed in fingering the lower button of his waistcoat.

"Neither Sage nor I have any desire to embarrass you or the Home Secretary," continued Colonel Walton, "but – "

"I'm sure of it, Walton, I'm sure of it, and so is Sir Roger." Again Mr. Llewellyn John looked across at his colleague who, seeming to lose interest in his lower waistcoat button, suddenly looked up.

"The question is, how long is this to continue?" he asked.

For some moments Colonel Walton did not reply. He appeared to be weighing something in his mind.

"We're up against the cleverest organisation in the world," he said at length, "and Sage believes that a single man controls the lot."

"Nonsense!" broke in Sir Roger. "This spy craze is pure imagination."

"In any case it causes the War Cabinet a great amount of concern," said Mr. Llewellyn John drily.

"I think," proceeded Colonel Walton, "that before the expiration of the four months stipulated for by John Dene, Department Z. will have justified itself."

"How?" demanded Sir Roger.

"I can say nothing more," said Colonel Walton, moving towards the door, "at present."

"Well, carry on, Walton," said Mr. Llewellyn John and, with a wave of his hand, "and good luck."

"Those two men have megalomania in its worst possible form," growled Sir Roger, as he too rose to take his departure.

"Well, if they don't make good on this," said Mr. Llewellyn John, "you can decide whether or not their resignations be accepted."

With a nod Sir Roger left the room, conscious that he had to explain to the permanent officials at the Home Office why Department Z. was still in being.