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"Euan," the girl asked as she gave him her hand, "who is this man Schulz, do you think?" The King's messenger leant over and whispered: "Secret Service!" "Secret Service!" The girl repeated the words in a hushed voice. "Then Mr. Dulkinghorn ... is he ... that too?" Euan nodded shortly. "One of their leadin' lights!" he answered.
"Our appointment was made by telephone, and I think therefore I should ask you to show me Mr. Dulkinghorn's letter of introduction before I go any further, so that I may feel quite sure in my mind that I am dealing with one in whom I know Mr. Dulkinghorn to have every confidence ..." Mr, Schulz's yellow face went a shade yellower.
He cleared the sofa with a sweep of his arm which sent the books flying on to the floor. "Ernest," said MacTavish, "I want you to give Miss Trevert here a letter to some reliable fellow in Rotterdam who can assist her in making a few enquiries of a very delicate nature!" "What sort of enquiries?" asked Dulkinghorn bluntly. "About a firm called Elias van der Spyck," replied Euan.
Hadn't the police better take the matter in hand?" "Police be damned!" replied Dulkinghorn heartily. "Miss Trevert will be better than a dozen heavy-handed, heavy-footed plain-clothes men. When you get to Rotterdam, Miss Trevert, you trot along and call on William Schulz. He'll see you through."
He resumed his pacing, but this time he hummed in the most unmelodious voice imaginable: She was bright as a butterfly, as fair as a queen, Was pretty little Polly Perkins, of Paddington Green. "It's dry!" MacTavish's voice broke in upon the pacing and the discordant song. "Well?" Dulkinghorn snapped out the question. "No result!" said Euan. He handed him the board.
Schulz urged, "this was a private letter which Mr. ... Mr. Dulkinghorn certainly did not expect you to see. That makes it awkward ..." "I think in the circumstances," said Mary, "I must insist, Mr. Schulz!" She was now feeling horribly frightened. She strained her ears in vain for a sound. The whole house seemed wrapped in a grave-like quiet. The smile had never left Mr. Schulz's face.
Then, to indicate without any possibility of misunderstanding, that his work had been interrupted long enough, Dulkinghorn got up, and, opening the sitting-room door, led the way into the hall. As he stood with his hand on the latch of the front door, Mary Trevert asked him: "Is this Mr. Schulz an Englishman?" "I'll let you into a secret," answered Bulkinghorn; "he was. But he isn't now!
He vanished into the hall where Mary heard him at the instrument. "We are going round to the Albany," he said, "to see my friend, Ernest Dulkinghorn, of the War Office. He can help us if any one can. But, Mary, you must promise me one thing before we go ... you must agree to do what old Ernest tells you. You needn't be afraid.
I'll give you a letter for him and he'll place himself entirely at your disposition. Euan will take you over. Holland is on your beat, ain't it, Euan? When do you go next?" "To-morrow," said the King's Messenger. "The boat train leaves Liverpool Street at ten o'clock." "You'll want a passport," said Dulkinghorn, turning to the girl. "You've got it there? Good. Leave it with me.
"Of Rotterdam?" enquired the other sharply. "That's right! Do you know them?" "I've heard the name. They do a big business. But hadn't Miss Trevert better tell her story herself?" Mary told him of the death of Hartley Parrish and of the letter she had found upon his desk. She said nothing of the part played by Robin Greve. "Hmph!" said Dulkinghorn. "You think it might be blackmail, eh?
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