Yes, they loved each other. Elises parents knew that. Sometimes they were anxious, for Dan Shearman felt that it would not be altogether a brilliant match, as far as an alliance went. Yet Mrs Shearman, on her part, had so often pleaded, that no separation of the pair had, as yet, been demanded. Hence they found idyllic happiness in each others love.
You seem unusually thoughtful to-night, Jack! exclaimed the girl, tenderly smoothing his hair as they stood together clasped in each others arms.
Do I? he answered with a start. I really didnt know, he laughed, aroused from his deep thoughts.
You are, Jack. Why?
I well, Im really not except perhaps
Perhaps what? asked Elise determinedly.
Well, I had rather a heavy day at the office, was her lovers hesitating reply. And Ive just remembered something.
Oh! business. And thats all?
Yes, business, dearest, was his reply. I must apologise if my thoughts were, for the moment, far away, he laughed.
Youre like father, said the girl. He sits by the fire sometimes for a quarter of an hour at a stretch staring into it, and thinking of his horrid business affairs. But of course business is an obsession with him.
Perhaps when Im your fathers age it will be an obsession with me, replied Jack Sainsbury.
I sincerely hope it wont, she said, with a smile upon her pretty lips.
It wont, if Im able to make sufficient money to keep you properly, darling, was the young mans fervent answer, as he bent until his moustache lightly brushed her cheek.
Truth to tell, he was reflecting seriously. For hours he had thought over those strange words he had overheard on entering the boardroom that afternoon.
Those astounding words of Lewin Rodwells were, in themselves, an admission a grave and terrible admission.
Lewin Rodwell and Sir Boyle Huntley were engaged in a great conspiracy, and he Jack Sainsbury was the only person who knew the ghastly truth.
Those two highly patriotic men, whose praises were being sung by every newspaper up and down the country; whose charitable efforts had brought in hundreds of thousands of pounds and hundreds of tons of comforts for our troops abroad; the two men whose photographs were in every journal, and whom the world regarded as fine typical specimens of the honest Briton, men who had raised their voices loudly against German barbarism and intrigue, were, Jack Sainsbury knew, wearing impenetrable masks. They were traitors!
He alone knew the truth a truth so remarkable and startling that, were it told and published to the world, Great Britain would stand aghast and bewildered at the revelation. It was inconceivable, incredible. At times he felt himself doubting what he had really heard with his own ears. Yet it had been Rodwells voice, and the words had been clear and distinct, a confession of guilt that was as plain as it was damning.
Sir Boyle had, from his seat in the House of Commons, risen time after time and denounced the policy of the Government in not interning every enemy alien in the country; he had heckled the Home Secretary, and had exposed cases of German intrigue; he had demanded that rigorous action should be taken against the horde of German spies in our midst, and had spoken up and down the country warning the Government and the people of the gravity of the spy-peril, and that British citizens would take the law in their own hands if drastic measures were not taken to crush out the enemy in our midst.
Yet that afternoon by no seeking of his own Jack Sainsbury had learnt a truth which, even hours after the words had fallen upon his ears, left him staggered and astounded.
He knew the secret of those two great and influential men.
What should he do? How should he act?
Such was the cause of his marked thoughtfulness that night an attitude which Elise had not failed to notice and which considerably puzzled her.
Mrs Shearman, a pleasant-faced, grey-haired and prosperous-looking lady, who spoke with a strong Lancashire accent, entered the room a few moments later, and the pair, springing aside at the sound of her footsteps, pretended to be otherwise occupied, much to the elder ladys amusement.
After greeting Jack the old lady sat down with him, while Elise, at her mothers request, returned to the piano and began to sing Léon Garniers Sublime Caresse, with that catchy refrain so popular on the boulevards of Paris and in cafés in every town in France
Quand lâchement
À lautre amant
Je me livre et me donne.
Quà lui je mabandonne.
Le coeur pâmé,
O cher aimé,
Cest à toi que sadresse
Ma sublime caresse!
Elise, who spoke French excellently, was extremely fond of the French chansonette, and knew a great many. Her lover spoke French quite well also, and very frequently when they were together in the tube or train they conversed in that language so that the every-day person around them should not understand.
To speak a foreign language amid the open mouths of the ignorant is always secretly amusing, but not so amusing as to the one person who unfortunately sits opposite and who knows that language even more perfectly than the speaker I was about to write swanker.
In that drawing-room of the red-brick Hampstead residence where the road is so steep that the vulgar London County Council Tramways have never attempted to invade it, and consequently it is a desirable residential neighbourhood according to the house-agents advertisements Jack and Elise remained after Mrs Shearman had risen and left. For another quarter of an hour they chatted and kissed wholeheartedly, for they loved each other fondly and dearly. Then, at ten oclock, Jack rose to go. It was his hour, and he never overstepped the bounds of propriety. From the first he had felt himself a mere clerk on the forbidden ground of the successful manufacturers home. Dan Shearman, honest, outspoken and square, had achieved Hampstead as a stepping-stone to Mayfair or Belgravia. To Jack Sainsbury the man of the fine old yeoman stock the refinement of the red-brick and laurels of Hampstead was synonymous with taste and breeding. To him the dull aristocracy of the London squares was unknown, and therefore unregarded.
How the people born in society laugh at Tom, Dick and Harry, with their feminine folk, who, in our world of make-believe, are struggling and fighting with one another to be regarded by the world as geniuses. Money can bring everything all the thousand attributes this world can give all except breeding and brains.
Breed, even in the idiot, and brains in the paupers child, will always tell.
When Jack Sainsbury descended the steps into Fitzjohns Avenue and strode down the hill to Swiss Cottage station, he was full of grave and bitter thoughts.
As an Englishman and a patriot, what was his line of action? That was the sole thought which filled his mind. He loved Elise with every fibre of his being, yet, on that evening, greater and even more serious thoughts occupied his mind the safety of the British Empire.
To whom should he go? In whom dare he confide?
As he crossed from the Avenue to the station, another thought arose within him. Would anybody in whom he confided really believe what he could tell them?
Lewin Rodwell and Sir Boyle Huntley were national heroes men against whom no breath of suspicion as traitors had ever arisen. It was the habit of the day to laugh at any suspicion of Britains betrayal an attitude which the Government had carefully cultivated ever since the outbreak of war. On that day the Chief of the Military Operations Department of the War Office in other words our Secret Service had been for reasons which will one day be revealed promoted and sent to the front, leaving the Department in the hands of others fresh to the work.