Number 70, Berlin: A Story of Britain's Peril

“You can’t be too careful, dear,” she said earnestly, laying her slim fingers upon his arm. “Remember that they are the spies of the most barbarous race on earth and, in order to gain their ends, they’ll stick at nothing.”

“Not even at killing your humble and most devoted servant – eh?” laughed Jack. “Well, if it will relieve your mind I’ll carry a pistol. I have an automatic Browning at home – a bit rusty, I fear.”

“Then carry it with you always, dear. – I – ” But she hesitated in her eagerness, and did not conclude her sentence.

In a second he realised that she had been on the point of speaking, of telling him something. Yet she had broken off just in time. That fact puzzled him considerably.

“Well,” he asked, his serious gaze fixed upon those big blue eyes of his well-beloved, while her fair head rested upon his shoulder: “what has caused you these gloomy forebodings concerning myself, dearest? Tell me.”

“Oh, nothing,” she replied in a strange, nervous voice. “I suppose that I’m horribly silly, of course. But, knowing all that you have told me about the wonderful spy-system of Germany, I have now become gravely apprehensive regarding your safety.”

Jack saw that she was endeavouring to conceal something. What knowledge had she gained? In an instant he grew eagerly interested. Yet he did not, at the moment, press her further.

“And you think that the fact of carrying a gun will be a protection to me, do you, little one? Well, most women believe that. Yet, as a matter of fact, firearms are very little protection. If a man is seriously marked down by an enemy, a whole army of detectives cannot save him. Think of the political assassinations, anarchist outrages, and the like. Police protection has usually proved futile.”

“But you can take proper ordinary precautions,” she suggested.

“And pray, dear, why do you ask me to take precautions?” he inquired. Then, looking earnestly into her eyes, he added very gravely: “Something – or somebody – has put all these grim fears into your head. Now, dearest, tell me the truth,” he urged.

She made no response. Her eyes were downcast, and he saw that she hesitated. For what reason?

“Whoever has put all these silly ideas into your head, darling, is responsible to me!” he said in a hard voice.

“Well, Jack, I – I really can’t help it. I – I love you, as you know; and I can’t bear to think that you are running into danger, as you undoubtedly are.”

He looked into her pretty face again.

“Now look here, darling,” he went on: “aren’t you getting just a little too nervous about me? I quite admit that in these days of wars, of terrible massacres, of barbarism and of outrages of which even African savages would not be guilty, one is apt to become unduly nervous. You’ve been reading the papers, perhaps. They don’t always tell us the truth nowadays, with the Censor trying to hide up everything.”

“No, Jack,” she said boldly. “I haven’t been reading the papers. I’m only anxious to save you.”

“But how do you know that I’m in any danger?” he asked quickly. “Why be anxious at all? I assure you that I’m perfectly safe. Nobody will lift a finger against me. Why should they?”

“Ah! you don’t see,” she cried. “There is a motive – a hidden motive of revenge. Your enemies intend to do you harm – grievous bodily harm. I know that.”

“How?” he asked quickly, fixing her splendid eyes with his.

That straight, bold question caused her to hesitate. She had intended to prevaricate, that he knew. She did not wish to reveal the truth to him, yet she feared lest he might be annoyed. Nevertheless, so serious was he, so calm and utterly defiant in face of her grave warning, that a second later she found herself wavering.

“Well,” she replied, “I – I feel absolutely certain that it is intended that some harm shall come to you.”

“Then I’d better go to Scotland Yard and say that I’m threatened – eh?” he laughed merrily. “And they will put on somebody to watch me, well knowing that, if the whole of Scotland Yard – from the Assistant Commissioner downwards – were put on to shadow me, the result would be just the same. I should surely be killed, if my enemies had seriously plotted my death.”

“That’s just my very argument,” she said sagely, her pretty head slightly inclined as she spoke. “I feel convinced that some evil is intended.”

“But why, darling?” he asked in surprise. “What causes you all these silly notions?”

“Several things. Frankly, I don’t believe that Dr Jerrold took his own life. I believe that he was a victim of the dastardly spies of the Great Assassin.”

Jack said nothing. The mystery in Wimpole Street was great. Yet, how could they dispute the medical evidence?

“That’s another matter,” he remarked. “How does that concern my safety?”

“It does, very deeply. Your enemies know that you assisted Jerrold, and I am firmly convinced that you are marked down in consequence.”

“My darling!” he cried, drawing her closer to him. “You really make me feel quite creepy all over!” and he laughed.

“Oh, I do wish, dear, you’d take this grave danger seriously!”

“But I don’t. That’s just it!” he answered. “I quite understand, darling, that you may be anxious, but I really feel that your anxiety is quite groundless and hence unnecessary.”

The girl sighed, and then protested, saying —

“Ah! if you would only heed my warning!”

“Haven’t I promised to do so? I’m going to carry my revolver in future.”

“You take it as a huge joke!” she said in dissatisfaction, disengaging herself slowly from his embrace.

“I do. Because I can’t see why you should warn me. Who has put such thoughts into your head? Surely I know how to take care of myself?” he exclaimed.

“Perhaps you do. But that a grave danger threatens you, Jack, I happen to know,” was her serious reply.

“How do you know?” he asked quickly, facing her. He had, all along, seen that, for some unaccountable reason, she was hesitating to tell him the truth.

“Well,” she said slowly, “if – if I tell you the truth, Jack dear, you won’t laugh at me, will you?” she asked at last.

“Of course not, my darling. I know full well that you love me, and, as a natural consequence, you are perhaps a little too apprehensive.”

“I have cause to be,” she said in a low voice, and, taking from the breast of her low-cut gown a crumpled letter, she handed it to him, saying: “A week ago I received this! Read it!”

He took it and, opening it, found it to be an ill-scribbled note, upon a sheet of common note-paper such as one would buy in a penny packet, envelopes included.

The note, which was anonymous, and bore the postmark of Willesden, commenced with the words “Dear Miss,” and ran as follows:

“Your lover, Sainsbury, has been warned to keep his nose out of other people’s affairs, and as he continues to inquire about what does not concern him his activity is to be cut short. Tell him that, as he has disregarded the advice given him by letter two months ago, his fate is now sealed. The arm of Germany’s vengeance is long, and reaches far. So beware —both of you!”

For a few seconds Jack held the mysterious missive in his hand, and then suddenly he burst out laughing.

“You surely won’t allow this to worry you?” he exclaimed. “Why, it’s only some crank – somebody we know who is playing a silly practical joke,” – and folding the letter, he gave it back to her with a careless air. “Such a letter as that doesn’t worry me for a single minute.”

“But it contains a distinct assertion – that you are doomed!” cried the girl, pale-faced and very anxious.

“Yes – it certainly is a very cheerful note. Whom do you know at Willesden?”

“Not a soul that I can think of. I’ve been puzzling my brains for days as to anybody I know there, but can think of no one.”

“It was posted out there on purpose, no doubt!” he laughed. “Well, if I were you, Elise, I wouldn’t give it another thought.”