London Scot (proud of his English). "Aw'll be hame aboot eicht o'clock the nicht, an'—"
Voice of Operator (obedient to Government instructions). "No foreign languges, please."
I was working in the garden, tidying up after the weekly visit of the jobbing gardener, when Bolsover put his head over the hedge. "Heard about the Pottingers’ governess?" he asked excitedly.
"The Pottingers’ governess?" I repeated. "No; what about her? Has she given them notice?
"Well, she's not exactly the Pottingers' governess," he replied, "but governess to some intimate friends of theirs named Ings living at Ponders End. Anyhow, I can absolutely vouch for the truth of the story."
"Get on," I said, "Don't keep me on tenterhooks. What's she done?"
"Why, the police have discovered that she's a German spy," said Bolsover mysteriously.
"'Angels and ministers of grace de—'"
"Yes," he went on, "she had been with them three years, teaching the children 'Ich bin geworden sein,' and 'Hast du die Tochter des Löwen gesehen', and all that. It appears that the police called at the house one night recently and insisted on searching her room and her trunks. Mr. Ings protested; said they'd made a mistake, his word on her honour pledged and integrity, but all with no avail. They searched and found—what do you think?"
"I'll buy it," I said; "Uncle Jasper's coming to lunch with me. What did they find?"
"It's no catch," protested Bolsover, "but the solid truth. They found in one of her trunks a German service-rifle and a quantity of ammunition."
"Never!" I exclaimed.
"Only once," retorted Bolsover. "She's now in a Concentration Camp near Hendon."
I thought no more about the matter until midway through lunch. We were waiting for for the soufflé when—
"Have you heard that story about a German?" Uncle Jasper and I began simultaneously.
"After you, Uncle," I said dutifully. "What were you going to say?"
"I was about to ask you if you had heard the story of the Polworth's governess," he said.
"No," I answered. "Tell me. You refer to the Polworths of Croydon?"
"Exactly. Well, they—or rather some friends of theirs named Culverton, living at Purley—had a German governess who had been in the family for some years. A night or two ago the police—"
But I needn't repeat it. In all essentials it was Bolsover's story over again, the only differences being that they found three bombs and that the governess was incarcerated at Horsham.
In the afternoon I accompanied Uncle Jasper to the railway station. On my way home I met the Vicar, and we fell to discussing the war. Eventually the conversation got to espionage.
"That reminds me," said the Vicar, "of a very strange case in the household of one of my parishioners—or it would be more correct to say that what I am going to tell you occurred in the house of a friend of his at Canterbury. However, the bona fides of the facts is absolutely unimpeachable. It appears that—"
And here followed another version of the governess episode, identical in all respects with those of Bolsover and Uncle Jasper, save only that the police found a loaded revolver and a plan of Chatham Dockyard, and that the woman had been deported.
That same evening I dined at old Colonel Jevers’, and when the ladies had withdrawn to the drawing-room our host began—
"Talking about the war reminds me of a most extraordinary spy story I heard today about a German governess."
All the men exchanged glances and smiled. The Colonel continued—"I can say at once that what I am going to tell you is authentic, for the events actually happened to the man who told me—I daresay some of you know Bickerton?—or rather to an old friend of his, which, under the circumstances, is practically the same thing. Well, this friend of Bickerton's, whose name was—"
"Ings, Mullens, Doddridge, Finlayson," we all, except young Pitts, murmured sotto voce.
"… Petherby, lived at—"
"Ponders End, Woking, Cleckheaton, Norwich," we added in a similar manner.
"... Maidstone, and for some time had had in his employ a German governess."
And so the tale went on until the Colonel got to the searching of the trunk. "... and in it was found"…
"A service-rifle, three bombs, a loaded revolver, plans of fortifications," we supplied as before.
"... incriminating letters showing clearly that for years the woman had been in communication with the German Secret Service Bureau," concluded our host.
Young Pitts left with me and walked to my house.
"I didn't hear any asides from you while the Colonel was repeating that hoary old yarn," I said as we reached the gate. "Hadn't you heard it before?"
"I heard it in the train this morning," Pitts answered.
"You don't believe it, surely?"
"Of course not. Amongst other reasons, because the man in whose house the events were supposed to have taken place happens, I know, to be a bachelor, and would not therefore require the the services of a German governess."
"Who was the person referred in the version you heard?" I asked.
"You," he replied.
Footwork.
"In a comparatively short time now, summer gardens will gave to be overhauled, the bedding-out plants taken up, cuttings taken, and the ground prepared for next spring's display; all of which will be labour usually regarded as manual, but which is well within the capabilities of a strong intelligent woman."—Country Life.
Who would of course regard such labour as womanual.
"Forming a hollow square in front of Webbe Tent, Lord Grenfell addressed the corps, and complimented them on the work they had done and their smart appearance."
The Contingent.
After which the C.O., on behalf of the corps, complimented Lord Grenfell on forming a hollow square.
