The Great Christmas Ball Read Online Free

floor,” he commanded.
    “My good man!” Gordon said, bridling up.
    “Do it, Gordie,” Cathy said, and sat on the floor.
    “Lie down, face to the floor, toe to toe,” the man ordered. They did as he said. “You,” he said to Gordon, “take off your cravat and bind your ankles together.”
    Gordon sat up, staring fixedly at the gun, undid his cravat, and did as commanded, but he tied the knot loosely. “Now lie back down,” the man said. When they were flat on the floor, he put his gun aside a moment, but within his own reach. “Don’t try anything,” he cautioned in a menacing voice. He removed his gloves and tightened the knot. Gordon hadn’t time, or perhaps courage, to try anything. The man picked up his gun and fled out the door.
    As soon as he was gone, they both sat up and began struggling with the knotted cravat. “By Jove, a spy!” Gordon croaked, delighted now that the immediate danger was past. “I shouldn’t have let out about the code. Fancy the mawworm not knowing it.” When the knot proved incalcitrant, he took out his hasp knife and sacrificed his cravat.
    As soon as he was free, he darted to the door, but of course the man was long gone. “His footprints are in the snow. I'll follow him,” he said, and darted out into the evening shadows while Cathy sat gasping, wondering what she should do. She soon knew her first duty was to inform Mr. Lovell.
    Within minutes Gordon was back, his head and shoulders lightly dusted in snow. “I lost him at the corner. There were a million fresh footprints. You would think an army had passed by. There wasn’t a sniff of him.”
    “He probably had a carriage waiting,” Cathy said.
    “Damme! My first chance for a little excitement, and I not only let the bleater get away, I told him about the code.”
    Cathy did battle with her conscience, and decided that sharing Mr. Lovell’s secret with her brother was the lesser of two evils, because Lovell must be informed at once, and she could not quite see herself going alone to Whitehall in search of him. She would tell Gordon the very minimum, just enough to ensure his help.
    “That wasn’t the letter he was after, Gordie,” she said.
    “Eh? What the deuce are you talking about? It was in German.”
    “That was Mr. Steinem’s billet-doux. The man with the gun was after a different letter.”
    “The devil you say! What letter?”
    “He took it away with him, the man who asked me to translate it. That intruder must have followed Mr. Lovell here, for Lovell was not gone above five minutes when he landed in.”
    “And who, pray, is Mr. Lovell?”
    Gordon listened, entranced, while Cathy briefly outlined the visit.
    “Wouldn’t you know I would miss it!” he said when she was finished. “While I was wasting my time on irregular verbs, we had a spy calling. Thank God for that billet-doux! At least I need not feel like a traitor. But do you mean to sit there and tell me you have been translating state secrets? I don’t believe a word of it. You’ve been reading Mrs. Radcliffe again.” His eyes traveled to the sofa by the grate, where the novel lay, facedown.
    “You must help me, Gordie,” she said with such a sober mien that Gordon believed her. Besides, she hadn’t enough imagination to come up with a story like this. “I must inform Mr. Lovell of that man’s visit. Lovell does not realize he is being followed. He might be killed.”
    “Where can I get hold of this Lovell?” Gordon asked.
    “At Whitehall. He works for the Horse Guards.”
    “He is a spy, then! Why, that’s just around the corner. I can be there in two seconds.”
    “Yes, we must go. I wish I had gotten a better look at the man. His shoulders were hunched up, but he was tall, I think. He was so muffled up, I saw nothing of his face except his eyes. They were close-set, and squinty.”
    “Nothing of the sort. He was a short fellow. His eyes were not really close-set. It was only his squinting that made them look that way.