"Do you know, Mr. Parkson, I don't look upon you as a stranger in the least. You are a friend of my reckless cousin, and, therefore, we are in a sense mutually acquainted."
"It is very nice of you to say so," acknowledged Parkson.
In her amiable presence he began to grow expansive, until suddenly Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, as it were, appeared to recollect her tragic widowhood. She dismissed him very neatly, but before he went away they shook hands, and she thanked him again. He could feel her fingers warm, vibrant, and vital in his. Her brilliant eyes held his for a moment; then she permitted him to depart.
Cecily came into the room when he had gone.
"You can take away the cups, Cecily," said Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, "and to-morrow night, in addition to coffee, you will provide whisky and liqueurs."
"Glasses for two," announced Mrs. Beecher Monmouth.
Within four days of her arrival at her hotel Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had completely enchained the susceptible young officer. Parkson was amazed at his own success, yet perhaps not so much amazed after all. He began to see himself as a newly fledged Don Juan, a dog, a daring and romantic fascinator of women.
One afternoon, when Colonel Hobin's permission had been obtained, Parkson invited Mrs. Beecher Monmouth to tea at Heatherpoint Fort. It was only occasionally that ladies were allowed to enter the fort gates. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, however, was a well-known woman, and her recent sorrow won for her every one's commiseration. In sending her the permit to enter the fort--a slip of yellow paper, rubber stamped, and with Colonel Hobin's signature scrawled at the foot--Parkson apologised for the roughness of the fare he would be able to offer her.
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had been deftly angling for an invitation to the fort from the moment of her arrival.
Upon the next afternoon she attired herself with special care, and, when ready, made the eleven miles journey to Heatherpoint in a hired car.
She smiled graciously at the first sentry to halt her vehicle at the foot of the wide road leading to the fort gate. At the tall iron gates themselves, which clanked noisily open when her pass had been inspected by the guard, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was conscious of a slight tremor. The sensation of being behind closed gates--for the gates clanked immediately shut upon her entrance--filled her with a sudden throb of fear. The abrupt movements, the expressionless faces of the guard also disturbed her. She had ventured a great deal in her work on behalf of the German secret service, but this was the first occasion where she had, as it were, stepped deliberately into the jaws of the lion. Her quick eyes took in all her surroundings; the cliff rose abruptly to her left; the muzzle of a six-inch gun peering out over the Solent was visible twenty yards away upon her right. A sergeant, still holding her pass in his hand, looked at her inquiringly.