I thought she could not have been here long.”
“Why?”
“Because only a week ago she travelled in the same compartment as myself between Berlin and Cologne.”
“And did you claim acquaintance with her?” I inquired quickly.
“No. She had a companion with her – a pimply-faced, ugly Johnnie, whom I took to be a German. They spoke in German all the time.”
Could it be, I wondered, that Yolande and her companion had travelled with Anderson with some evil intent?
“Didn’t you speak to them?”
“The man tried to open a conversation with me, but I pretended to be Italian, without any knowledge of German or English, so he didn’t get very far. To affect Italian is generally a sure game, for so few people speak it in comparison with those who know other Continental languages.”
“You wanted to overhear their conversation – eh?”
“I wanted to ascertain what their game was,” answered the Queen’s messenger. “They eyed my despatch-box very curiously; and it was to me an extremely suspicious circumstance that although they joined the train at Berlin they did not enter my compartment until an hour later, when the express stopped to change engines.”
“You were alone?”
“Yes, and it was at night,” he answered, adding: “To me it was also a curious circumstance that only three days afterwards Kaye should become so deeply interested in her. I had never seen her from that night in Brussels until we had met in the train, but I’ve a good memory for faces. I can swear I was not mistaken.”
“You speak as though you suspected her,” I said, looking straight into his ruddy countenance, which had grown unusually serious while we had been speaking.
“Well, to tell the truth, I did suspect her,” he responded. “I didn’t half like the look of the man. He was well-dressed, but as you know I’ve always a sharp eye where my fellow-travellers are concerned, and I felt certain that there was something shady about him. They shifted about all night, and were constantly watching to see whether I had gone to sleep. But all their watching was without reward. Jack Anderson never sleeps while he has a crossed despatch upon him;” and he blew a cloud of smoke upward from his lips.
“But surely you don’t think that their intention was to steal your despatches?” I cried.
“They were welcome to the whole collection in the box,” he laughed. “They were only consular reports and necessary evils of that sort. What they wanted was the crossed despatch from Berlin that I had in my belt next my skin.”
“They made no attempt to get at it?”
“Yes, they did. That’s just where my suspicion was proved.”
“How?” I asked breathlessly, bending eagerly towards him.
“Well, as you know, I always carry among my wraps a little cushion covered with black satin. Experience has taught me that that cushion has saved me many an aching head and stiff neck when on long journeys. So I placed it behind my head, and through the night read a novel by the dim, uncertain light. About two o’clock in the morning we ran into Hanover, and I got out to get a drink. When I returned, however, and placed the cushion behind my head, I felt a slight dampness upon it. In an instant suspicion seized me. Some liquid had been sprinkled upon it in my absence. My two fellow-travellers, wrapped in their rugs, were apparently sleeping. At once I resolved to act with caution, and, turning my cheek towards the pillow, smelt it. There was a curious odour, sweet and subtle, like some new perfume. I had suspected chloroform, but it was certainly not that. Yet almost the instant after I had inhaled it a curious and unaccountable drowsiness seized me. Then I knew the truth. They had plotted to render me insensible and afterwards steal the despatch! I struggled against this feeling of weariness, and, rising to my feet, buttoned my overcoat as though I were chilly. This action allowed the cushion to fall away from my head, and, again re-seating myself, I made a feint of being interested in my book; but in reality my head was awhirl, and in the pocket of my ulster I had my hand upon my revolver, ready to use it should that pimply-faced ruffian attempt violence. The pair commenced to shift about uneasily in their seats, and I could see that their failure had considerably disconcerted them.”
“You gave them no idea that you had discovered their intentions?”
“None whatever. I was anxious to see how they would act after being foiled.”
“Well, what did they do?”
“They exchanged glances of annoyance, but spoke no word. They were silent for over an hour, during which time it occurred to me to move the cushion farther from me, in case the evaporation of the mysterious liquid should cause insensibility. I was determined that your pretty little friend’s companion should be the first to be thus affected. The feeling of drowsiness, however, wore off, and at Cologne the pair, after chatting in German regarding the train to Venlo, bustled about hastily and descended. They had no baggage, and went into the buffet to breakfast.”
“You, of course, continued your journey?”
“Yes, to Ostend and London.”
“It seems as though you had rather a narrow escape,” I observed thoughtfully.
“It was a daring attempt to get at that despatch,” he remarked with some warmth. “Depend upon it, my dear Ingram, that woman is a spy. I know she’s a friend of yours, but I can’t help saying just what I think.”
“But I can’t believe it!” I declared. “Indeed, I won’t believe it!” I added vehemently.
“As you like,” he said coldly, with a slight shrug of his broad shoulders. “I’ve told you the plain truth as to what occurred.”
“She’s wealthy, and of one of the best families in Belgium. There is no necessity whatever for her to be in the pay of any foreign Government,” I protested.
“We have nothing to do with her reasons,” he said. “All we know is that she and her companion tried to drug me in order to get at the despatch.”
“You have no idea, I suppose, of the contents of the despatch in question?” I inquired.
“None, except that when I gave it into the Chief’s own hands in his private room at Downing Street, he appeared to be very much surprised by its contents, and at once wrote a reply, with which I posted back to Berlin by the same night’s mail from Charing Cross.”
“Then it was upon a matter of importance?”
“I judged it to be of extreme importance. Yolande de Foville was evidently well aware that I had the despatch in my belt.”
“You had never before seen this man who accompanied her?”
“Never. But now he has made one attempt it is quite probable he may make another. I’m on the look-out for him again.”
“And the cushion? Have you discovered what they placed upon it?”
“I left it in London with Dr Bond, the analyst, at Somerset House. He’s trying to discover the liquid used. I hope he will be successful, for the stuff was so potent that I have no desire for it again to be sprinkled upon my belongings.”
“They
