E. Phillips Oppenheim - 21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series)

“In an ordinary case, yes,” Selingman agreed. “In this case, no! The person who rang up made use of a call office. But come, it is a gloomy subject, this. I wish I had known that you were likely to see Mr. Hebblethwaite this afternoon. Bear this in mind in case you should come across him again. It would interest me very much to know whether any breach of friendship has taken place at all between him and Mr. Spencer Wyatt. Do you know Spencer Wyatt, by-the-by?”

“Only slightly,” Norgate replied, “Not well enough to talk to him intimately, as I can do to Hebblethwaite.”

“Well, remember that last little commission,” Selingman concluded. “Are you staying on or leaving now? If you are going, we will walk together. A little exercise is good for me sometimes. My figure requires it. It is a very short distance, but it is better than nothing at all.”

“I am quite ready,” Norgate assured him.

They left the room and descended the stairs together. At the entrance to the building, Selingman paused for a moment. Then he seemed suddenly to remember.

“It is habit,” he declared. “I stand here for a taxi, but we have agreed to walk, is it not so? Come!”

Norgate was looking across the street to the other side of the pavement. A man was standing there, engaged in conversation with a plainly-dressed young woman. To Norgate there was something vaguely familiar about the latter, who turned to glance at him as they strolled by on the other side of the road. It was not until they reached the corner of the street, however, that he remembered. She was the young woman at the telephone call office near Westbourne Grove!

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Mr. Hebblethwaite was undoubtedly annoyed. He found himself regretting more than ever the good nature which had prompted him to give this visitor an audience at a most unusual hour. He had been forced into the uncomfortable position of listening to statements the knowledge of which was a serious embarrassment to him.

“Whatever made you come to me, Mr. Harrison?” he exclaimed, when at last his caller’s disclosures had been made. “It isn’t my department.”

“I came to you, sir,” the official replied, “because I have the privilege of knowing you personally, and because I was quite sure that in your hands the matter would be treated wisely.”

“You are sure of your facts, I suppose?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“I do not know much about navy procedure,” Mr. Hebblethwaite said thoughtfully, “but it scarcely seems to me possible for what you tell me to have been kept secret.”

“It is not only possible, sir,” the man assured him, “but it has been done before in Lord Charles Beresford’s time. You will find, if you make enquiries, that not only are the Press excluded to-day from the shipbuilding yards in question, but the work-people are living almost in barracks. There are double sentries at every gate, and no one is permitted under any circumstances to pass the outer line of offices.”

Mr. Hebblethwaite sat, for a few moments, deep in thought.

“Well, Mr. Harrison,” he said at last, “there is no doubt that you have done what you conceived to be your duty, although I must tell you frankly that I wish you had either kept what you know to yourself or taken the information somewhere else. Since you have brought it to me, let me ask you this question. Are you taking any further steps in the matter at all?”

“Certainly not, sir,” was the quiet reply. “I consider that I have done my duty and finished with it, when I leave this room.”

“You are content, then,” Mr. Hebblethwaite observed, “to leave this matter entirely in my hands?”

“Entirely, sir,” the official assented. “I am perfectly content, from this moment, to forget all that I know. Whatever your judgment prompts you to do, will, I feel sure, be satisfactory.”

Mr. Hebblethwaite rose to his feet and held out his hand.

“Well, Mr. Harrison,” he concluded, “you have performed a disagreeable duty in a tactful manner. Personally, I am not in the least grateful to you, for, as I dare say you know, Mr. Spencer Wyatt is a great friend of mine. As a member of the Government, however, I think I can promise you that your services shall not be forgotten. Good evening!”

The official departed. Mr. Hebblethwaite thrust his hands into his pockets, glanced at the clock impatiently, and made use of an expression which seldom passed his lips. He was in evening dress, and due to dine with his wife on the other side of the Park. Furthermore, he was very hungry. The whole affair was most annoying. He rang the bell.

“Ask Mr. Bedells to come here at once,” he told the servant, “and tell your mistress I am exceedingly sorry, but I shall be detained here for some time. She had better go on without me and send the car back. I will come as soon as I can. Explain that it is a matter of official business. When you have seen Mrs. Hebblethwaite, you can bring me a glass of sherry and a biscuit.”

The man withdrew, and Mr. Hebblethwaite opened a telephone directory. In a few moments Mr. Bedells, who was his private secretary, appeared.

“Richard,” his chief directed, “ring up Mr. Spencer Wyatt. Tell him that whatever his engagements may be, I wish to see him here for five minutes. If he is out, you must find out where he is. You can begin by ringing up at his house.”

Bedells devoted himself to the telephone. Mr. Hebblethwaite munched a biscuit and sipped his sherry. Presently the latter laid down the telephone and reported success.

“Mr. Spencer Wyatt was on his way to a city dinner, sir,” he announced. “They caught him in the hall and he will call here.”

Mr. Hebblethwaite nodded. “See that he is sent up directly he comes.”

In less than five minutes Mr. Spencer Wyatt was ushered in. He was wearing the uniform of an Admiral of the Fleet—a tall, broad-shouldered man, fair complexioned, and with the bearing of a sailor.

“Hullo, Hebblethwaite, what’s wrong?” he asked. “Your message just caught me. I am dining with the worshipful tanners—turtle soup and all the rest of it. Don’t let me miss more than I can help.”

Mr. Hebblethwaite walked to the door to be sure that it was closed and came back again.

“Look here, Wyatt,” he exclaimed, “what the devil have you been up to?”

Wyatt whistled softly. A light broke across his face.

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” Hebblethwaite continued. “Five weeks ago we had it all out at a Cabinet meeting. You asked Parliament to lay down six battleships, four cruisers, thirty-five submarines, and twelve torpedo boats. You remember what a devil of a row there was. Eventually we compromised for half the number of battleships, two cruisers, and the full amount of small craft.”

“Well?”

“I am given to understand,” Hebblethwaite said slowly, “that you have absolutely disregarded the vote—that the whole number of battleships are practically commenced, and the whole number of cruisers, and rather more than the number of smaller craft.”

Wyatt threw his cocked hat upon the table.

“Well, I am up against it a bit sooner than I expected,” he remarked. “Who’s been peaching?”

“Never mind,” Hebblethwaite replied. “I am not telling you that. You’ve managed the whole thing very cleverly, and you know very well, Wyatt, that I am on your side. I was on your side in pressing the whole of your proposals upon the Cabinet, although honestly I think they were far larger than necessary. However, we took a fair vote, and we compromised. You had no more right to do what you have done—”

“I admit it, Hebblethwaite,” Wyatt interrupted quickly. “Of course, if this comes out, my resignation’s ready for you, but I tell you frankly, as man to man, I can’t go on with my job, and I won’t, unless I get the ships voted that I need. We are behind our standard now. I spent twenty-four hours making up my mind whether I should resign or take this risk. I came to the conclusion that I should serve my country better by taking the risk. So there you are. What are you going to do about it?”