"The new ammunition depot was destroyed last night by our airmen," he said, with some abruptness. "Your information was reliable." "Pardon, is not my information always reliable?" interpolated the Secret Service agent. "So it has proved," acknowledged his chief cordially, but a mark was mentally registered against the Herr Captain. German bureaucracy does not tolerate presumption from a subordinate. "And owing to your excellent record, you have been selected for a most delicate mission." "Under the same conditions?" "The Imperial Government cannot be questioned," retorted his chief, his anger rising. "I am different from other operatives." A puff of cigarette smoke wreathed upward from the speaker's lips. "A free-lance." "And you have been given a free hand. We have not inquired into your methods of procuring information, being content with the result." "And does not the result justify not only your confidence but promotion?" The Herr Chief of the Secret Service considered before replying; then he answered with a question. "Have you been to Ireland?" The Secret Service agent smiled grimly as he took from his pocket a book of cigarette papers. Counting them over, he selected the seventeenth paper, and passed it to his companion, who examined the small blank sheet with interest. "Just a moment," and the young man again slipped his hand into a vest pocket, this time bringing out a nickel flashlight. Pressing his thumb on the switch he held the glass bulb against the rice paper. In a few minutes a faint tracing appeared on the blank page, which grew brighter as the rays of light generated more heat. "Hold it a moment," said the Herr Chief of the Secret Service. "Keep it over the bulb," and taking out his notebook he made several entries, then closed it with a snap. "Finished?" As he asked the question, the Secret Service agent replaced his pocket flashlight, drew out his tobacco pouch, poured a little in the rice paper, and proceeded to roll the cigarette with practiced fingers. "About Sheerness?" questioned the Herr Chief of the Secret Service. "All is arranged." "Good." The Herr Chief of the Secret Service permitted himself to settle back more comfortably on the roomy seat so that he faced his companion. In the closed and semi-darkened limousine there was no danger of their conversation being overheard. "I reserved for myself, Herr Captain," said the Herr Chief slowly, "the pleasure of informing you that your valuable services to the Kaiser and the Fatherland"--the Secret Service agent raised his hat--"are recognized. The Cross may yet be yours." "How can I express my gratitude?" stammered the Secret Service agent. "By not jumping to hasty conclusions," smiled his chief. "Never again question your orders."