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"That was an awful night. I'd made my plan whilst I was waiting for her. The

papers were safe so far, but I couldn't take the risk of leaving them there any

longer. They might throw that magazine away any minute. I lay awake waiting

until I judged it must be about two o'clock in the morning. Then I got up as softly

as I could, and felt in the dark along the left-hand wall. Very gently, I unhooked

one of the pictures from its nail--Marguerite with her casket of jewels. I crept over

to my coat and took out the magazine, and an odd envelope or two that I had

shoved in. Then I went to the washstand, and damped the brown paper at the

back of the picture all round. Presently I was able to pull it away. I had already

torn out the two stuck-together pages from the magazine, and now I slipped them

with their precious enclosure between the picture and its brown paper backing. A

little gum from the envelopes helped me to stick the latter up again. No one would

dream the picture had ever been tampered with. I rehung it on the wall, put the

magazine back in my coat pocket, and crept back to bed. I was pleased with my

hiding-place. They'd never think of pulling to pieces one of their own pictures. I

hoped that they'd come to the conclusion that Danvers had been carrying a

dummy all along, and that, in the end, they'd let me go.

"As a matter of fact, I guess that's what they did think at first, and, in a way, it

was dangerous for me. I learnt afterwards that they nearly did away with me then

and there--there was never much chance of their 'letting me go'--but the first

man, who was the boss, preferred to keep me alive on the chance of my having

hidden them, and being able to tell where if I recovered my memory. They

watched me constantly for weeks. Sometimes they'd ask me questions by the

hour--I guess there was nothing they didn't know about the third degree!--but

somehow I managed to hold my own. The strain of it was awful, though...

They took me back to Ireland, and over every step of the Journey again, in case

I'd hidden it somewhere en route. Mrs. Vandemeyer and another woman never

left me for a moment. They spoke of me as a young relative of Mrs. Vandemeyer's

whose mind was affected by the shock of the Lusitania. There was no one I could

appeal to for help without giving myself away to THEM, and if I risked it and

failed--and Mrs. Vandemeyer looked so rich, and so beautifully dressed, that I felt

convinced they'd take her word against mine, and think it was part of my mental

trouble to think myself 'persecuted'--I felt that the horrors in store for me would

be too awful once they knew I'd been only shamming."

Sir James nodded comprehendingly.

Mrs. Vandemeyer was a woman of great personality. With that and her social

position she would have had little difficulty in imposing her point of view in

preference to yours. Your sensational accusations against her would not easily

234

The Secret Adversary