Okewood of the Secret Service | Page 9

it! Will you take this little box and keep it safely
for me until... until... the war is over... until I ask you for it?"
"Yes, of course," said Barbara, "if you wish it, though, what with these
air raids, I don't know that London is particularly safe, either."

"Ah! that is good of you," cried Nur-el-Din, "anyhow, the little box is
safer with you than with me. See, I will wrap it up and seal it, and then
you will take it home with you, n'est-ce pas?"
She opened a drawer and swiftly hunting among its contents produced
a sheet, of white paper, and some sealing-wax. She wrapped the box in
the paper and sealed it up, stamping the seals with a camel signet ring
she drew off her finger. Then she handed the package to Barbara.
There was a knock at the door. The maid, noiselessly arranging
Madame's dresses in the corner opened it.
"You will take care of it well for me," the dancer said to Barbara, and
her voice vibrated with a surprising eagerness, "you will guard it
preciously until I come for it..." She laughed and added carelessly:
"Because it is a family treasure, a life mascotte of mine, hein?"
Then they heard Strangwise's deep voice outside.
Nur-el-Din started.
"Le Captaine is there, Madame," said the French maid, "'e say
Monsieur Mackwayte ask for Mademoiselle!"
The dancer thrust a little hand from the folds of her silken kimono.
"Au revoir, ma petite," she said, "we shall meet again. You will come
and see me, nest-ce pas? And say nothing to anybody about..." she
pointed to Barbara's bag where the little package was reposing, "it shall
be a secret between us, hein? Promise me this, mon enfant!"
"Of course, I promise, if you like!" said Barbara, wonderingly.
At half-past eight the next morning Desmond Okewood found himself
in the ante-room of the Chief of the Secret Service in a cross and
puzzled mood. The telephone at his bedside had roused him at 8 a.m.
from the first sleep he had had in a real bed for two months. In a
drowsy voice he had protested that he had an appointment at the War

Office at 10 o'clock, but a curt voice had bidden him dress himself and
come to the Chief forthwith. Here he was, accordingly, breakfastless,
his chin smarting from a hasty shave. What the devil did the Chief want
with him anyhow? He wasn't in the Secret Service, though his brother,
Francis, was.
A voice broke in upon his angry musing.
"Come in, Okewood!" it said.
The Chief stood at the door of his room, a broad-shouldered figure in a
plain jacket suit. Desmond had met him before. He knew him for a man
of many questions but of few confidences, yet his recollection of him
was of a suave, imperturbable personality. To-day, however, the Chief
seemed strangely preoccupied. There was a deep line between his
bushy eyebrows as he bent them at Desmond, motioning him to a chair.
When he spoke, his manner was very curt.
"What time did you part from the Mackwaytes at the theatre last
night?"
Desmond was dumbfounded. How on earth did the Chief know about
his visit to the Palaceum? Still, he was used to the omniscience of the
British Intelligence, so he answered promptly:
"It was latish, sir; about midnight, I think!"
"They went home to Seven Kings alone!"
"Yes, sir, in a taxi!" Desmond replied.
The Chief contemplated his blotting-pad gloomily. Desmond knew it
for a trick of his when worried.
"Did you have a good night?" he said to Desmond, suddenly.
"Yes," he said, not in the least understanding the drift of the question.
"... though I didn't mean to get up quite so early!"

The Chief ignored this sally.
"Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the night, I suppose?" he
asked again.
Desmond shook his head.
"Nothing that I know of, sir," he said.
"Seen Strangwise this morning?"
Desmond gasped for breath. So the Chief knew about him meeting
Strangwise, too!
"No, sir!"
A clerk put his head in at the door.
"Well, Matthews!"
"Captain Strangwise will be along very shortly, sir," he said.
The Chief looked up quickly.
"Ah, he's all right then! Good."
"And, sir," Matthews added, "Scotland Yard telephoned to say that the
doctor is with Miss Mackwayte now."
Desmond started up.
"Is Miss Mackwayte ill?" he exclaimed.
The Chief answered slowly, as Matthew s withdrew: "Mr. Mackwayte
was found murdered at his house early this morning!"
CHAPTER IV.
MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE

There is a sinister ring about the word "murder," which reacts upon
even the most hardened sensibility. Edgar Allan Poe, who was a master
of the suggestive use of words, realized this when he called the greatest
detective story