Project Gutenberg Australia

Title: Secret Service
Author: Arthur Gask
* A Project Gutenberg Australia eBook *
eBook No.: 2000911.txt
Language: English
Date first posted:  September 2020
Date last updated:  September 2020

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------------------------------------------------------------------------



"SECRET SERVICE"



By Arthur Gask



Published in the Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 1954), Thursday 27
March 1941.



It was in the old untroubled days before Dictators walked the earth
and the scene was the lounge of a luxurious hotel upon the Cornish
Riviera. The hour was after dinner, and a number of the guests had
been discussing the case of a well-known public man who mysteriously
disappeared from his home a few weeks previously, after it had been
found out he had for many years been leading a double life.

"And, of course, there would be a woman in it!" drawled a
cynical-looking man about thirty. There's a woman in everything when
there's any trouble. They cause it all."

"Nonsense!" snapped an aristocratic blonde who always had a little
cluster of admirers round her. "It's you horrid men who make all
the trouble. You never leave us poor women alone." She turned to a
distinguished looking old man who was regarding them all with an amused
smile upon his clever, intellectual face. "Isn't that so, Dr. Smith? We
are quite harmless if left to ourselves, aren't we?"

"Quite harmless!" nodded the old doctor emphatically. He fibbed with
great gallantry. "I've never yet known a woman do anything wrong." He
shook his head. "But about this particular man we've been talking of; a
great deal too much fuss is being made about his disappearance, simply
because he happens to be well in the public eye. Why, if we only knew
it, a hundred and one such mysteries are taking place every day under
our very eyes!"

"And I expect you, as a doctor, could tell us some very interesting
stories of double lives, if you only would," nodded the blonde.

"Certainly, I could," agreed Dr. Smith readily. His old eyes twinkled.
"Only they mightn't be all true. You've heard just now what a dreadful
fibber I can be."

The blonde looked pleadingly at him. "But do tell us a story, doctor.
There's nearly always something a little bit improper about doctors'
stories, and it will give some of us girls a chance to lower our eyes
and show off what nice long lashes we've got. Yes, tell us a story,
whether it's true or not."

The others joining with her request, the old doctor said at last,
"Well, I'll tell you one, and the great merit of it will be that it's
quite true. It points out in what mystery we can be living for years
and years and yet--be quite unaware of it." He settled himself back
comfortably in his chair. "Now it's about a young fellow whom we'll
call Jack Robinson. He was the only son of well-to-do parents and had
been living the usual life of most young men of his class, good public
school, then on to a university, plenty of money for sport, cars,
travelling about, and all that. It had been intended he should become
a medical man, but he wouldn't settle down to anything and idled about
for so long that at last his father got sick of him and all his ways.
There was a quarrel and he left the house with only a few pounds in his
pocket and with no prospects at all.

"I knew the family well, and about three months later ran up against
the boy in the Strand. He looked shabby and down at heel, and there was
no doubt things were not going too well with him. He was annoyed with
meeting me, and curtly refused the offer of a couple of pounds, getting
away as quickly as possible to escape any questioning. I saw no more
of him until some months later we chanced to meet again, one evening
in the West End. To my astonishment, he was looking quite his old self
again, smartly dressed and with all signs of prosperity about him.
Standing well over six feet, I thought what a good-looking young fellow
he was. I asked what he was doing, but he shook his head and declined
to say.

"I suggested our dining together at the 'Rialto'--you know, one of
the best and most expensive restaurants in London--and after a little
hesitation he agreed, but only on the condition that I came as his
guest. I was a little bit disturbed because I knew, as well as he would
know, that the dinner and the wine there would cost him at least fifty
shillings.

"Into the Rialto we went, and one thing struck me at once. He was most
anxious not to be noticed and tried to make himself as inconspicuous as
possible by humping his shoulders and keeping his head down as we made
our way to the table he had selected at the far end of the restaurant.
All the meal time, too, when he was taking stock of the other diners,
it was his eyes only and not his head which he moved. Yes, for some
reason, he was undoubtedly most uneasy.

"Regardless of the price, he ordered a bottle of vintage champagne,
with the evident intention of impressing upon me that he had plenty
of money. I asked him again how he was making his living, but he only
smiled and, upon my saying that at all events I hoped he was doing
it honestly, he replied evasively. "Oh, yes, as things go nowadays!"
We had a pleasant meal together and then, upon parting, with some
hesitation, he asked me as a favor that if I should happen to come
across him again, unexpectedly, wherever he was, unless he spoke to me
first would I please take no notice and appear not to recognise him. He
wouldn't explain any more, but, of course, I promised.

"I didn't see him again for a very long while, but some two years
later got news of him through a mutual friend who had happened to come
across him in one of those many new garden cities which have sprung up
recently just outside the metropolitan area. He was married to a very
pretty girl and they were occupying one of the largest and best houses
on the estate. They had a good car, kept two maids and were about the
most well-to-do among the little community in which they lived.

The old doctor paused here and beamed round upon his audience with
twinkling eyes as he asked, "Now, what do you think his occupation was
supposed to be?"

"I know," answered the blonde. "He'd become a bookmaker, of course!"

"Certainly not," reproved Dr. Smith indignantly. "His work was much
more romantic than that."

"He was a dress-designer," suggested the cynical-looking man, "and and
had all the lovely women in London buzzing round him like flies."

"He told fortunes," said a second man, "and the police were after him."

Dr. Smith nodded solemnly. "He was in the Secret Service and told off
to watch all the most dangerous spies coming to London. That's what my
friend had found out."

"Oh, how thrilling," exclaimed the blonde, "but did everybody know it?"

"Of course, they didn't! Only a very few, just his wife's parents and
her relations. He was the mystery man of that little garden city.
Later I met his wife and heard all the story of his coming there and
the sensation he had made. It was most interesting for, although so
well-off, he'd had a lot of difficulty in getting the girl. Her father
was a middle-aged clerk, upon a small salary, in a tea broker's in
the city and, sensible and well-balanced, he had a great objection to
giving his daughter to anyone who was so evasive about his occupation
that he would not disclose where he went to work every day.

"I must tell you here that there were lots of boys after Margaret, that
was the girl's name, and she had no end of chances of making a good
marriage for one in her position. Her parents may have been commonplace
and not much to look at, but she herself was a real little beauty and
with her lovely profile, perfect features and aristocratic bearing
it might easily have been imagined she came of a long line of noble
ancestors.

"Well, just when it seemed the young couple would have to elope to get
married, the whole difficulty was smoothed out in a most unexpected
manner and, all in a few moments, Margaret's father was completely
satisfied as to young Jack Robinson's fitness to become his son-in-law.

"It happened, Jack had had tickets given him for a swell flower show
in Chelsea, organised by society people in aid of some charity, and he
took Margaret and her parents with him. The latter would not have gone
or indeed, have allowed him to take Margaret if they had not heard a
certain Royal Duke might be coming. Sure enough the old Duke and his
Duchess put in an appearance and proceeded to mingle unobtrusively with
the other visitors. Then, to the parents' stupendous amazement, His
Royal Highness, happening to catch sight of Jack Robinson, gave him a
most friendly nod, actually exclaiming, 'Hope you're enjoying yourself,
Robinson?' Then apparently taking in that Jack was in the company of a
remarkably pretty-looking girl, he added smilingly, 'And I see flowers
are not the only beautiful things here this afternoon.'

"Margaret's parents were almost overwhelmed with pride, but Jack
appeared to think little of it, just explaining modestly that his work
often brought him in contact with most important people.

"Jack and the pretty Margaret were married shortly afterwards and,
later, Jack became reconciled to his father, driving down unexpectedly
to the latter's place in Hampshire one Sunday afternoon. Margaret had
by then grown into a very beautiful woman and had presented her husband
with a lovely little boy. Apparently, Jack was in better circumstances
than ever, but he declined to give his father any further information
as to his occupation except to tell him, exactly as he had told
Margaret's parents, that he was in the Secret Service.

"More than ten years passed by and then, quite by accident I found out
what he was actually doing. One night I was visiting one of London's
most luxurious hotels, we'll call it the 'Great Babel,' and suddenly
I came upon Jack in what I thought must be a disguise. He was dressed
as the commissionaire of the hotel. I can't say I was very surprised,
for if he were in the Secret Service the 'Great Babel' would be a most
natural place for him to be watching, frequented as it is by foreigners
from all parts of the world. I very seldom dined out, but that night
had come as the guest of an old friend. During the course of the meal
I made some discreet enquiries of our waiter as to the very handsome
commissionaire I had seen at the door when I came in, and learnt to my
astonishment that he was there under his own name of Jack Robinson.

"'How long has he been here?' I asked, and I could have dropped through
the floor when I received the reply, 'Oh, I should think it must be
getting on for 15 years.'"

The old doctor paused impressively. "So, that was his Secret Service,
bowing visitors into the hotel, bowing them out again and calling taxis
for them! Gad, but wasn't I amazed!

"I didn't see him again when I went out and supposed, and quite
rightly, too, that he must have gone off duty. Still, I wasn't going to
let the matter end there and, as a friend of the family, was intending
to find out in what other way he was making his money. I was minded to
go down to where I knew he was now living, upon the following Sunday,
but he forestalled me by calling at my professional rooms in town the
very next afternoon. He had seen me in the hotel, right enough, and
came to shut my mouth before I had had much opportunity to tell anybody.

"He came into my consulting-room with a grin and frankly told me
everything. He had obtained employment at the Great Babel within a few
days of my having met him looking so shabby, that first time in the
street, to begin with as under porter, but rising to be their head
commissioner within a few months. He said he owed his rapid promotion
to being able to speak French and German, and a smattering of Italian
as well. Not even his wife knew he was there, for he had still kept up
the fiction of the Secret Service with her, and the strange thing was
that none of the people about his home life seemed to have recognised
him.

"But then came his most astounding statement and it will make some
of your mouths water. His weekly wage was £3, but he assured me, and
produced his bank passbook to prove it, that his tips during that same
time often amounted to upwards of £50."

"£50 from tips!" exclaimed the cynical-looking man angrily. "Why it's
the salary of a Cabinet Minister!"

"Yes," smiled Dr. Smith, "and most probably more than the manager of
the hotel himself earned." He was drawing near the end of his story.
"You see only wealthy people would be coming to the Great Babel
and Jack Robinson, being of such a good appearance and looking so
distinguished, none of them would care to give him a really small tip.
Besides, with his knowledge of the continent and the best places where
one could spend a lot of money, he was most useful to many visitors,
particularly so to Americans.

"Well, for ten more years after he came to see me that afternoon he
remained on at the Great Babel, and during all that time managed to
keep from his wife and family what his occupation really was. They
never found him out. Just think of it! For five and twenty years he
lived that double life, giving his children the best surroundings
possible. He sent his boys to the best public schools and then on to
the university. One qualified brilliantly as a medical man and the
other got high into the Indian Civil Service, and they never learnt
what their father was. I say 'was,' because he left the Great Babel
nearly a couple of years back.

"But why did he leave there if he was doing so well?" asked the
good-looking blonde. "Had he got enough money to retire?"

"Partly that," replied Dr. Smith, "and partly for family reasons. One
of his daughters, who is as beautiful as her mother was, was making an
excellent marriage and, with her moving in such good society circles,
it would have been a dreadful thing if the father's occupation had
become known. Besides, his own father is quite a wealthy man and, the
only child, there was no necessity for him to keep on where he was. So
Jack Robinson retired and, having grown a beard, no one would recognise
him now." The old man rose to his feet. "Well, goodnight all, and I
hope you liked my little story, although, as I say, it has the merit of
being strictly true," and, with a smiling bow all round, he left the
room.

"Interesting old chap!" remarked a man thoughtfully. He shook his head.
"But I'm sure I've seen him before. His face seems familiar, somehow."

The following day some passing motorists, calling in at the hotel
for lunch, happened to meet there a man they knew. Looking round at
those gathered together for the meal, one of the newcomers remarked:
"Ah, I see you got old Sir Michael staying here. He won't remember me,
although I was introduced to him some little time ago. I know his son
pretty well."

His friend followed the direction he indicated. "But that's a Dr.
Smith!" he exclaimed. "He's no Sir Michael Somebody!"

"Oh, isn't he?" laughed the other. "He's Sir Michael Barrow, right
enough. He got his baronetcy when he was made Physician to the King.
He's an eccentric old chap, and often goes about under an assumed name.
He thinks people always want to ask him a lot of questions if they know
who he really is."

The friend expressed his astonishment. "Is he married?" he asked.

"He was, but he's been a widower now for many years. His granddaughter
was the beautiful Mary Barrow, who's portrait was in the Academy last
year. You remember she married young Lord Thurlow."

A suspicion stirred in the other's mind. "Who's her father?" he asked
sharply.

"John Barrow, the heir to the baronetcy. He runs a model farm near
Haslemere. Used to be something in the Secret Service up to a couple of
years ago. Very decent chap!"

His friend gave a low whistle, but made no comment.


THE END.

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