had devoted itself to smuggling from the occupied regions into France gold, jewellery, and securities, which had been hidden from the prying eyes of the Hun.
After his wound Dick had lost sight of her. For many months he had lain dangerously ill, and when he had recovered sufficiently to write, Yvette had disappeared.
Dick’s reverie was broken at length by a light touch on his arm. “A penny for your thoughts!” said a soft voice at his elbow.
Dick came to earth with a jerk. The voice was that of Yvette herself! And when he turned he found her standing beside him, smiling into his face with the light of sheer mischief dancing in her brilliant eyes. With her was a tall young Frenchman, obviously her brother.
“Yvette!” Dick gasped in sheer amazement. “What on earth brings you here?”
“I came to look for you, my friend,” was the quaint but sufficiently startling reply in excellent English. “But let me present my brother. Jules — this is Mr Manton.”
Dick, his head in a whirl, mechanically acknowledged the introduction. Yvette had come to look for him! What could it mean?
“We came down from London this evening,” Yvette explained, “and are staying at the ‘George.’ We soon found your rooms, and hearing you were here decided to give you a surprise.”
“You have certainly succeeded,” Dick rejoined. “But how on earth did you learn I was in Fenways?”
“Well,” said Yvette, “it’s no mystery. I happened to meet Vincent quite by accident in Paris, and he told me where you were.” Vincent was an old flying colleague, and one of the very few people with whom Dick had cared to keep in touch.
“I have tried several times to find you,” went on the girl, “but even your own War Office didn’t seem to know what had become of you after you left the Army, and my letters were returned to me.”
Then her manner changed.
“Dick,” she said seriously, “I came down to see you on business — important business. I can’t explain here. I want you to come back to Town with us in the morning. My brother and I have a proposition to put before you. We want your help. Will you come?”
Wonderingly, Dick consented.
“Yes,” he said, “I shall be glad. My assistant can quite well look after things here while I am away.”
“Very well,” said Yvette, with a look of relief which did not escape Dick, “that’s settled. Now let us enjoy ourselves.”
Dick spent a sleepless night, crowded with old memories which kept him wide awake. Next morning he found himself with his two companions in the train for London. Arriving at Liverpool Street, they took a taxi and were soon comfortably ensconced in a private room at a small but exclusive West End hotel.
It was not until after lunch that Yvette opened a conversation that was destined to exercise a powerful influence on Dick Manton’s career.
“Now, Dick,” — she called him “Deek” — “before I say anything I must make it a condition that under no circumstances will you ever mention what passes between us. I know I can trust you implicitly. I am going to make you an offer which you are absolutely free either to accept or refuse. It will surprise you, and you are entitled to a full explanation. But in case you refuse, not a word of our conversation must ever pass your lips under any circumstances whatever. Do you agree?”
“Of course I do,” replied Dick, wondering what was coming.
“Very well,” laughed Yvette, “now I can tell you everything.”
“You will remember,” she went on, “what I was doing in France — smuggling money and valuables out of the reach of the Germans. Well, I am doing the same thing still, but on a different scale and by different methods. I dare say you know that there is an enormous amount of smuggling into England; the heavy import duties have made it a very profitable game. What you probably don’t know is that it is mostly carried on by Germans. There is a regular organisation at work, clever, secret, and highly efficient. But the chain, like every chain, has a weak link, and I happen to have found it. The head of the whole undertaking is Otto Kranzler, of Frankfort. You will remember him. He was the commandant responsible for the murder of my father and mother.”
“I remember!” Dick exclaimed.
“At the very moment Kranzler is in Paris, looking for an opportunity to get into England with a wonderful collection of jewels, which formed a part of those given to the mock-monk Rasputin by the late Czarina of Russia and some of his wealthy female admirers. Now, Dick, I want those jewels, and I am going to have them?”
“But how?” queried Dick.
“Kranzler is in a serious difficulty. So far as I can make out the jewels were brought into Germany by a Bolshevik agent for disposal, of course, against the German law. Rasputin’s jewels were liable to confiscation, and by some means the German Secret Police got wind of the affair. Kranzler, however, was too quick for them, and slipped over the frontier into France in the nick of time. Now he is in a quandary.
“Under French law he has so far committed no offence, and cannot be arrested. But if he attempts either to deal in the jewels or to export them he will find himself in trouble. The French police are wide-awake — of course, they got a tip from the Germans — and are watching him as a cat watches a mouse.
“So there he is,” she went on, “planted in an hotel with jewels worth at least fifty thousand pounds, and unable to move! His one chance is to get the jewels away by a messenger. He is clever and may succeed, but I don’t think he will. He has already tried but without success.
“I have a plan. I think I can get the jewels out of the hotel. But they must be brought to England, and there is the difficulty. When Kranzler loses them he can’t make any formal complaint, but he will certainly get out of France as speedily as possible; that will give the game away, and the watch on the boats will be keener than ever. I dare not risk sending them by a messenger. An aeroplane is the only chance. And I want you to fly that aeroplane!”
Dick coloured painfully.
“But, my dear Yvette,” he stammered, “you don’t mean to say you intend — ?”
“To steal the jewels?” Yvette completed the sentence.
“Yes,” Dick admitted, horribly embarrassed. He found it impossible to associate Yvette with what appeared to him a piece of cold-blooded larceny.
“I quite expected you to say that, Dick,” Yvette replied. “And perhaps I should have thought less of you if you had said anything else. But surely you don’t take me for a common thief?” Without waiting for Dick’s reply, she went on: “Now, try to look at this affair through our French eyes for a moment. I’m going to have those jewels — at least, I’m going to try. Who am I hurting? A German who robbed me of my father and mother! Would any Frenchman or Frenchwoman hesitate a moment? He is a thief and a murderer! Whom am I benefiting? Myself? Not for a moment; I wouldn’t touch a penny of the money. If I bring this off — and I think I shall — there will be at least a million francs to help on the restoration of the devastated regions of France. Now, Dick, you helped France once. Won’t you do it again? I must have some one I can trust, and I know no one but yourself. It will be great sport to beat the police of two countries,” she added with a laugh.
Dick’s imagination caught fire. It was impossible to resist Yvette’s appeal. He was more weary than he knew of his humdrum life in Norfolk, and here was an adventure after his own heart. His mind was swiftly made up.
“I’m on, Yvette!” he said shortly.
To his amazement, the girl burst into a sudden passion of tears.
“On? Dick — if you could only realise what it means to me!” she sobbed. “I have been all through the smashed-up parts of France — everything, even our churches, is smashed and broken and defiled. The poor people are working desperately to restore