The House of Whispers

"I hope the world will never know the truth."

"It will know the truth. They have the copies in Athens. If there is a traitor—as we have now proved the existence of one—then we can never in future rest secure. At any moment another exposure may result, with its attendant disaster."

The Baronet halted before one of the long windows, the morning sunshine falling full upon his sad, grey face. He drew a long sigh and said, "Goslin, do not let us discuss the future. Tell me exactly what is the present situation."

"The present situation," the Frenchman said in a dry, matter-of-fact voice, "is one full of peril for us. You have, over there in your safe, a certain paper—a confidential report which you received direct from Vienna. It was brought to you by special messenger because its nature was not such as should be sent through the post. A trusted official of the Austrian Ministry of Foreign Affairs brought it here. To whom did he deliver it?"

"To Gabrielle. She signed a receipt."

"And she broke the seals?"

"No. I was present, and she handed it to me. I broke the seals myself.

She read it over to me."

"Ah!" ejaculated the Frenchman suspiciously. "It is unfortunate that you are compelled to entrust our secrets to a woman."

"My daughter is my best friend; indeed, perhaps my only friend."

"Then you have enemies?"

"Who has not?"

"True. We all of us have enemies," replied the mysterious visitor. "But in this case, how do you account for that report falling into the hands of the people in Athens? Who keeps the key of the safe?"

"I do. It is never out of my possession."

"At night what do you do with it?"

"I hide it in a secret place in my room, and I sleep with the door locked."

"Then, as far as you are aware, nobody has ever had possession of your key—not even mademoiselle your daughter?"

"Not even Gabrielle. I always lock and unlock the safe myself."

"But she has access to its contents when it is open," the visitor remarked. "Acting as your secretary, she is, of course, aware of a good deal of your business."

"No; you are mistaken. Have we not arranged a code in order to prevent her from satisfying her woman's natural inquisitiveness?"

"That's admitted. But the document in question, though somewhat guarded, is sufficiently plain to any one acquainted with the nature of our negotiations."

The blind man crossed to the safe, and with the key upon his chain opened it, and, after fumbling in one of the long iron drawers revealed within, took out a big oblong envelope, orange-coloured, and secured with five black seals, now, however, broken.

This he handed to his friend, saying, "Read it again, to refresh your memory. I know myself what it says pretty well by heart."

Monsieur Goslin drew forth the paper within and read the lines of close, even writing. It was in German. He stood near the window as he read, while Sir Henry remained near the open safe.

Hill tapped at the bolted door, but his master replied that he did not wish to be disturbed. "Yes," the Frenchman said at last, "the copy they have in Athens is exact—word for word."

"They may have obtained it from Vienna."

"No; it came from here. There are some pencilled comments in your daughter's handwriting."

"They were dictated by me."

"Exactly. And they appear in the copy now in the hands of the people in Athens! Thus it is doubly proved that it was this actual document which was copied. But by whom?"

"Ah!" sighed the helpless man, his face drawn and paler than usual, "Gabrielle is the only person who has had sight of it."

"Mademoiselle surely could not have copied it," remarked the Frenchman.

"Has she a lover?"

"Yes; the son of a neighbour of mine, a very worthy young fellow."

Goslin grunted dubiously. It was apparent that he suspected her of trickery. Information such as had been supplied to the Greek Government would, he knew, be paid for, and at a high price. Had mademoiselle's lover had a hand in that revelation?

"I would not suggest for a single moment, Sir Henry, that mademoiselle your daughter would act in any way against your personal interests; but—"

"But what?" demanded the blind man fiercely, turning towards his visitor.

"Well, it is peculiar—very peculiar—to say the least."

Sir Henry was silent. Within himself he was compelled to admit that certain suspicion attached to Gabrielle. And yet was she not his most devoted—nay, his only—friend? "Some one has copied the report—that's evident," he said in a low, hard voice, reflecting deeply.

"And by so doing has placed us in a position of grave peril, Sir Henry—imminent peril," remarked the visitor. "I see in this an attempt to obtain further knowledge of our affairs. We have a secret enemy, who, it seems, has found a vulnerable point in our armour."

"Surely my own daughter cannot be my enemy?" cried the blind man in dismay.

"You say she has a lover," remarked the Frenchman, speaking slowly and with deliberation. "May not he be the instigator?"

"Walter Murie is upright and honourable," replied the blind man. "And yet—" A long-drawn sigh prevented the conclusion of that sentence.

"Ah, I know!" exclaimed the mysterious visitor in a tone of sympathy. "You are uncertain in your conclusions because of your terrible affliction. Sometimes, alas! my dear friend, you are imposed upon, because you are blind."

"Yes," responded the other, bitterly. "That is the truth, Goslin. Because I cannot see like other men, I have been deceived—foully and grossly deceived and betrayed! But—but," he cried, "they thought to ruin me, and I've tricked them, Goslin—yes, tricked them! Have no fear. For the present our secrets are our own!"

CHAPTER XVIII

REVEALS THE SPY

The Twelfth—the glorious Twelfth—had come and gone. "The rush to the North" had commenced from London. From Euston, St. Pancras, and King's Cross the night trains for Scotland had run in triplicate, crowded by men and gun-cases and kit-bags, while gloomy old Perth station was a scene of unwonted activity each morning.

At Glencardine there were little or no grouse; therefore it was not until later that Sir Henry invited his usual party.

Gabrielle had been south to visit one of her girlfriends near Durham, and the week of her absence her afflicted father had spent in dark loneliness, for Flockart had gone to London, and her ladyship was away on a fortnight's visit to the Pelhams, down at New Galloway.

On the last day of August, however, Gabrielle returned, being followed a few hours later by Lady Heyburn, who had travelled up by way of Stirling and Crieff Junction, while that same night eight men forming the shooting-party arrived by the day express from the south.