The doctor bent a sudden glance of suspicion upon the lean face before him. His thick lips clapped together stubbornly. "Aha, my dear friend; you are asking questions. In my time at Berlin the Wilhelmstrasse taught that all orders and information came from above--and from there only. Why----" "I suppose in default of other information I may ask the governor to point out the Wilhelmstrasse men," Woodhouse answered, with a shrug. "I was told at Berlin I would learn all that was necessary to me as I went along, therefore, I supposed----" "Come--come!" Doctor Koch patted the other's shoulder, with a heavy joviality. "So you will. When you arrive at Gib, put up at the Hotel Splendide, and you will not be long learning who your friends are. I, for instance, did not hesitate overmuch to recognize you, and I am under the eyes of the English here at every turn, even though I am a naturalized English citizen--and of undoubted loyalty." He finished with a booming laugh. "But Woodhouse; you have arranged a way to have him drop out of sight before the _Princess Mary_ sails? There will be no confusion--no slip-up?" "Do not fear," the physician reassured. "Everything will be arranged. His baggage will leave the Hotel Khedive for the dock to-morrow night; but it will not reach the dock. Yours----" "Will be awaiting the transfer of tags at the Cap de Liberté--Mouquère's little place," the captain finished. "But the man himself--you're not thinking of mur----" "My dear Nineteen Thirty-two," Doctor Koch interrupted, lifting protesting hands; "we do not use such crude methods; they are dangerous. The real Captain Woodhouse will not leave Alexandria--by sea, let us say--for many months. Although I have no doubt he will not be found in Alexandria the hour the _Princess Mary_ sails. The papers he carries--the papers of identity and of transfer from Wady Halfa to Gibraltar--will be in your hands in plenty of time. You----" The doctor stopped abruptly. A hidden electric buzzer somewhere in the shadowed room was clucking an alarm. Koch pressed a button at the side of the operating chair. There was a sound beyond closed doors of some one passing through a hallway; the front door opened and closed. "Some one at the gate," Doctor Koch explained. "Cæsar, my playful little Numidian--and an artist with the Bedouin dagger is Cæsar--he goes to answer." Their talk was desultory during the next minutes. The doctor seemed restless under the suspense of a pending announcement as to the late visitor. Finally came a soft tapping on the hidden door behind Woodhouse. The latter heard the doctor exchange whispers with the Numidian in the hallway. Finally, "Show him into the waiting-room," Koch ordered. He came back to where the captain was sitting, a puzzled frown between his eyes.