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Updated: June 29, 2025
Desmond never admired Maurice Strangwise more than in that moment. All eyes now turned questioningly towards the new arrival. As for Desmond he drew back as far as he dared into the shadow. He knew he was in the direst peril; but he was not afraid for himself.
Desmond turned to find Strangwise standing up. "I thought of just running round behind the scenes for a few minutes," he said carelessly. "What, to see Nur-el-Din? By Jove, I'm coming, too!" promptly exclaimed Desmond. Strangwise demurred. He didn't quite know if he could take him: there might be difficulties: another time... But Desmond got up resolutely.
Has he been cashiered for wearing shoes or what?" Spencer's manner became a trifle formal. "Captain Strangwise has escaped from a prisoners' of war camp in Germany, Major," he said, "we've been trying to get hold of him for days! He's the talk of London!" Desmond turned like a shot.
The blow struck Desmond straight between the eyes. The execution of spies followed hard on their conviction, he knew. Was he too late? "Has... has she... has the sentence already been carried out?" he asked hoarsely. Strangwise shrugged his shoulders. "My information didn't go as far as that!" he replied. "But I expect so. They don't waste much time over these matters, old man!
I planted those documents in her dress or rather Bellward did to draw suspicion away from me. I thought you English would be too flabby to execute a woman; but I reckoned on you putting the girl away for some years to come. I would have shot her as I shot Rass if..." His voice trembled and he was silent. "If what?" asked the Chief. "If she hadn't been my wife," said Strangwise.
Marcelle, taking off her heavy head-dress, answered quickly: "Who told you that?" "Never mind," replied Strangwise. "But you never told me you were going. Why didn't you?" His voice was stern and hard now, very different from his usual quiet and mellow tones. But he was smiling. Marcelle cast a glance over her shoulder.
At his elbow was a table crowded with various parcels, a case of razors, different articles of kit, and some books. Desmond halted at the door, his box of cigarettes dangling from his finger. "Hullo, Maurice," he said, "are you off, too?" Strangwise spun round sharply. The blood had rushed to his face, staining it with a dark, angry flush.
Berling's frank, honest eyes returned the other's gaze unflinchingly. But Strangwise was obviously taken aback, though only for the moment. The flush that mounted to his cheek quickly died down, leaving him as cool and impassive as ever. "Do you know this man!" the Chief, asked sternly, addressing Strangwise. "Certainly," retorted Strangwise, "it's Gunner Barling, one of the Brigade signallers!"
Desmond rubbed his chin. "I say, you aren't going to implicate old Strangwise, too, are you?" he asked. Barbara did not reflect his smile. "He seems to know Nur-el-Din pretty well," she said, "and I'll tell you something else, that woman's afraid of your friend, the Captain!" "What do you mean?" asked Desmond.
Barbara sat musing for a while, her eyes on the restless sea. "How strange it is," she said, "to think that they are all dispersed now... and the transports are sailing securely to France. Two were killed at the Mill House, Behrend committed suicide in prison, Bellward died in hospital, Mrs. Malplaquet has disappeared, and now Strangwise has gone. There only remains..."
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