Heathersleigh Homecoming (37 page)

 72 
Questions

At the Admiralty in London, the First Lord of the Admiralty listened to the report that the exchange had been made with success, and, it was all but certain, without detection. Churchill nodded, obviously pleased, though with grave expression.

“Where is the
Dauntless
now, Lieutenant Langham?” he asked.

“Hopefully safely through the Greek islands and approaching Malta,” replied a young man of confident bearing, blond, tall, and with a rich baritone voice. He carried himself as one who would one day himself be a leader and commander in the military ranks of which he now occupied the bottom rung on the officers' ladder.

“That should put her in the Orkneys in three or four days,” said Churchill. “Have we made more progress in penetrating the Prussian Intelligence Service?”

“No, sir—unfortunately not,” answered Churchill's assistant. “But they do appear to be operating from somewhere on British soil.”

“Have you spoken recently with the Secret Service?”

“I met with Mr. Whyte last week, sir. They are just as much in the dark as we are.”

“We've got to find their headquarters!” exploded Churchill in an uncharacteristic moment of anger as he slammed his fist down on the table. “There are still far too many moles among us. They will be our undoing if we do not root them out. What about our friend Beauchamp?”

“Still no trace of his whereabouts, sir,” answered Langham, “nor sign that he has left the country.”

“Then he is still either in Britain or has been smuggled out through their network. We've got to penetrate it!”

Churchill paused briefly, then glanced seriously toward his youthful aide.

“I want you to devote even greater attention to this matter than previously, Lieutenant,” he said. “Pull out every file. Start over. Investigate everything we have on this security problem . . . the moles, the apparent spy network, the M.P. Beauchamp and his disappearance. Meet again with Jack Whyte. Whatever files of theirs he can open to you, ask him to do so. I want to know what they've got. And you are acquainted with Colonel Forsythe—the army's intelligence expert. Talk to him as well. We have to regain command of the seas and put a stop to this U-boat infiltration. Somewhere there have to be clues we have missed. I want you to make this your personal mission on my behalf.”

“I understand, sir,” said Langham.

“No one else has been able to find where they are coming in, or how the messages are wreaking havoc with our communications. Maybe you will have better luck.”

 73 
Overheard Schemes

Amanda went downstairs to breakfast early the following morning.

She had to try to find out what they were up to. And she wanted to be safely in place at her table in the corner before either Ramsay or Barclay made an appearance, and with a copy of the day's newspaper to hold up in front of her face if need be.

She had been sitting at the table almost an hour, and had drawn out her own breakfast about as long as was credible, when the two men walked in together, absent the presence of either female member of the potential trio, Greenfield or Mrs. Halifax. Amanda thought she detected Ramsay's eyes resting upon her for the briefest of seconds. Trying to act nonchalant, though her heart began to pound the moment she knew he was looking at her, she took a slow sip from a cup of lukewarm tea, then casually raised the paper in front of her up just to her eyes. Slowly Ramsay looked away.

Whew!
she thought. She had apparently passed the first test of the new mademoiselle look with flying colors.

Her self-congratulations, however, were a little too hasty. The men proceeded to serve themselves, then began walking her way.

Oh no!
thought Amanda.
They've seen me . . . they know . . . they know!

She was about to spring to her feet and make a dash for it, when they sat down two tables away. She relaxed, collected herself again, and strained to listen.

“ . . . still convinced she's in England?” Mr. Barclay was saying.

“Of course,” replied Ramsay. “Where else would she be?”

“Then you need to get over there as quickly as possible.”

“And you?”

“ . . . can't risk it,” said Barclay, “ . . . recognize me.”

“I can handle Amanda,” said Ramsay.

“Like you've handled her up till now?”

Ramsay shot the older man an angry glance.

“In any event a telegram came in for me just moments ago,” Barclay went on, “that may require my attention on another matter. The services of the lighthouse are needed. So unfortunately I have no choice but to let you deal with the girl on your own. I hope you can keep from bungling it again.”

Swallowing his mounting annoyance at Barclay's barbs, Ramsay took a drink of coffee. “What kind of matter?” he asked.

“Another defection. But of a considerably higher level of importance than your wife's.”

“What are your plans, then?”

“I am being met by an operative in Prussian Intelligence who needs to intercept the defector. I have to catch a train north after breakfast tomorrow. I must take him to England.”

“I can still get through by normal channels,” said Ramsay. “I've got double citizenship and passports. I know Amanda's places. If she has returned to London, I'll find her.”

“I'll meet you at the lighthouse,” said Barclay “ . . . and make sure you have the girl this time.”

“I will leave tomorrow as well.”

“Why not today?”

“What's the rush? You won't be to the lighthouse for several days. I want to make the most of my time with Adriane. I will be in London by tomorrow night.”

“Unfortunately, I will be somewhere between here and Antwerp.”

Both men were silent a few minutes.

“Come to think of it,” said Barclay at length, “don't bother bringing the girl to the lighthouse.”

“What are you implying?”

“I think we both know well enough what I mean. Just take care of it.”

“Do you realize you're talking about my wife?” sneered Ramsay.

“I didn't think you were the sentimental type, Halifax. I think it's time you started thinking of yourself as a widower.”

Amanda sucked in a shocked gasp. So, they
were
planning to kill her!

For another twenty minutes she kept her face securely hidden behind the newspaper, but could not concentrate on anything other than what she had heard. When Ramsay and Barclay finally rose to
leave, she waited another minute or two, then followed them from the room.

If they were both leaving after breakfast tomorrow, she had twenty-four hours to decide which of the two she was going to follow.

Depending on her plan, she might also need another brief shopping excursion into the city.

 74 
Surprise Intruder

When Ramsay Halifax walked into the dining room of l'Atelier des Prés early the following morning with Adriane Grünsfeld on one arm and Hartwell Barclay walking along on the other side, his thoughts inexplicably turned briefly to the colorfully attired young Frenchwoman he had noticed about the hotel, and wondered why she wasn't seated at her customary table in the corner. Perhaps she had finally checked out.

The reason for her absence, however, was of quite another nature. She was, in fact, at that very moment carrying out a scheme she had been going over in her mind since yesterday for gaining entry into the room he and his mistress had left only minutes before.

“Excuse me, miss,” said Amanda to the maid in her practiced French. “I am Miss Sadie's stage assistant. She is on her way to the theater and left behind one of the most important parts of her costume—the hat in which she sings the finale of the last act. She needs it desperately, but she was already late and asked me to bring it. She told me to hurry back and find Fayette.”

“I am Fayette,” said the maid.

“Good. Miss Sadie said you would be so kind as to let me into the room. It is 369.”

“Yes, I know Miss Sadie's room.”

“Will you let me in, please—I am in a hurry to get to the theater myself.”

Amanda now pulled out a twenty-franc note.

“Miss Sadie asked me to give you this for your trouble,” she said.

Persuaded perhaps by the fact that she had seen Amanda several times the day before in this same corridor apparently just leaving room 369—an occurrence which Amanda had carefully orchestrated to coincide with both Ramsay's and Adriane's absence from the room, and no doubt likewise induced by the sudden appearance of
the bill—the maid called Fayette took the bill from Amanda's hand, turned, and led the way toward the room in question. In another thirty seconds Amanda was safely inside with the door locked behind her.

Now she had to work fast.

Meanwhile, downstairs in the breakfast room, the trio was making plans to depart the French city, Barclay for his rendezvous with the Prussian, Ramsay for his hoped rendezvous with Amanda in London, and the actress Sadie Greenfield for an appointment with her afternoon's audience at the theater.

“When will I see you again, Ramsay darling?” she asked.

“Mere days, my dear,” he answered jovially, “mere days. After my return I shall be all yours.”

Hartwell Barclay had had enough of such talk. He rose.

“Don't be too confident of that,” he said. “We may yet have other work to do after this little episode is over.”