The Great Impersonation by E. Phillips Oppenheim (books to read now txt) 📕

with a sudden passion in his tone. “I will have that place razed to the bare level of the earth, and I will have its poisonous swamps sucked dry. I have hated that foul spot,” he went on, “ever since I realised what suffering it meant to her. My reign here may not be long, Doctor⁠—I have my own tragedy to deal with⁠—but those who come after me will never feel the blight of that accursed place.”

The doctor grunted. His inner thoughts he kept to himself.

“Maybe you’re right,” he conceded.

XXIX

The heat of a sulphurous afternoon⁠—a curious parallel in its presage of coming storm to the fast-approaching crisis in Dominey’s own affairs⁠—had driven Dominey from his study on to the terrace. In a chair by his side lounged Eddy Pelham, immaculate in a suit of white flannels. It was the fifth day since the mystery of the Black Wood had been solved.

“Ripping, old chap, of you to have me down here,” the young man remarked amiably, his hand stretching out to a tumbler which stood by his side. “The country, when you can get ice, is a paradise in this weather, especially when London’s so full of ghastly rumours and all that sort of thing. What’s the latest news of her ladyship?”

“Still unconscious,” Dominey replied. “The doctors, however, seem perfectly satisfied. Everything depends on her waking moments.”

The young man abandoned the subject with a murmur of hopeful sympathy. His eyes were fixed upon a little cloud of dust in the distance.

“Expecting visitors today?” he asked.

“Should not be surprised,” was the somewhat laconic answer.

The young man stood up, yawned and stretched himself.

“I’ll make myself scarce,” he said. “Jove!” he added approvingly, lingering for a moment. “Jolly well cut, the tunic of your uniform, Dominey! If a country in peril ever decides to waive the matter of my indifferent physique and send me out to the rescue, I shall go to your man.”

Dominey smiled.

“Mine is only the local Yeomanry rig-out,” he replied. “They will nab you for the Guards!”

Dominey stepped back through the open windows into his study as Pelham strolled off. He was seated at his desk, poring over some letters, when a few minutes later Seaman was ushered into the room. For a single moment his muscles tightened, his frame became tense. Then he realised his visitor’s outstretched hands of welcome and he relaxed. Seaman was perspiring, vociferous and excited.

“At last!” He exclaimed. “Donner und!⁠—My God Dominey, what is this?”

“Thirteen years ago,” Dominey explained, “I resigned a commission in the Norfolk Yeomanry. That little matter, however, has been adjusted. At a crisis like this⁠—”

“My friend, you are wonderful!” Seaman interrupted solemnly. “You are a man after my own heart, you are thorough, you leave nothing undone. That is why,” he added, lowering his voice a little, “we are the greatest race in the world. Drink before everything, my friend,” he went on, “drink I must have. What a day! The very clouds that hide the sun are full of sulphurous heat.”

Dominey rang the bell, ordered hock and seltzer and ice. Seaman drank and threw himself into an easy-chair.

“There is no fear of your being called out of the country because of that, I hope?” he asked a little anxiously, nodding his head towards his companion’s uniform.

“Not at present,” Dominey answered. “I am a trifle over age to go with the first batch or two. Where have you been?”

Seaman hitched his chair a little nearer.

“In Ireland,” he confided. “Sorry to desert you as I did, but you do not begin to count for us just yet. There was just a faint doubt as to what they were going to do about internment. That is why I had to get the Irish trip off my mind.”

“What has been decided?”

“The Government has the matter under consideration,” Seaman replied, with a chuckle. “I can certainly give myself six months before I need to slip off. Now tell me, why do I find you down here?”

“After Terniloff left,” Dominey explained, “I felt I wanted to get away. I have been asked to start some recruiting work down here.”

“Terniloff⁠—left his little volume with you?”

“Yes!”

“Where is it?”

“Safe,” Dominey replied.

Seaman mopped his forehead.

“It needs to be,” he muttered. “I have orders to see it destroyed. We can talk of that presently. Sometimes, when I am away from you, I tremble. It may sound foolish, but you have in your possession just the two things⁠—that map and Von Terniloff’s memoirs⁠—which would wreck our propaganda in every country of the world.”

“Both are safe,” Dominey assured him. “By the by, my friend,” he went on, “do you know that you yourself are forgetting your usual caution?”

“In what respect?” Seaman demanded quickly.

“As you stooped to sit down just now, I distinctly saw the shape of your revolver in your hip pocket. You know as well as I do that with your name and the fact that you are only a naturalised Englishman, it is inexcusably foolish to be carrying firearms about just now.”

Seaman thrust his hand into his pocket and threw the revolver upon the table.

“You are quite right,” he acknowledged. “Take care of it for me. I took it with me to Ireland, because one never knows what may happen in that amazing country.”

Dominey swept it carelessly into the drawer of the desk at which he was sitting.

“Our weapons, from now on,” Seaman continued, “must be the weapons of guile and craft. You and I will have, alas! to see less of one another, Dominey. In many ways it is unfortunate that we have not been able to keep England out of this for a few more months. However, the situation must be dealt with as it exists. So far as you are concerned you have practically secured yourself against suspicion. You will hold a brilliant and isolated place amongst those who are serving the great War Lord. When I do approach you, it will be for sympathy and assistance against the suspicions of those farseeing