"The Hun always is." There was a knock at the door. "Come in," called Colonel Walton. A moment later there entered a man of foreign appearance, with dark well-brushed hair, sallow skin and the deprecating manner of one who is in a country where he is not quite sure either of the customs or of the language. For a moment he stood smiling. Malcolm Sage caught Colonel Walton's eye. Upon Thompson's face there spread a grin of admiration. "Wonderful, Finlay," said Colonel Walton. "Wonderful." "You think it is like?" enquired he who had been addressed as Finlay. "Wonderful," repeated Colonel Walton, "but," he added a moment after, "it's a dangerous game." Finlay shrugged his shoulders in a manner that was almost aggressively un-English. He possessed one remarkable characteristic, once he had assumed a personality, he continued to be that man until he finally relinquished the part. "He'll put you to sleep if you make a mistake," said Sage with uncompromising candour. Again the shrug of the shoulders. "That ring," said Sage, pointing to a flat gold band on the third finger of the left hand in which were set three turquoises in the form of a triangle. "What do you make of the inscription?" "I do not know," said Finlay with the finnicking inflection of one talking in a strange tongue. "What about Deutsches ueber alles?" suggested Walton. "Ah! you have discovered." "Perfect," said Sage, "absolutely perfect. You're a genius, Finlay." With a smile and a half-shrug of his shoulders, Finlay deprecated the compliment. "Where are you going to stay?" enquired Colonel Walton. "At the Ritzton with John Dene, same floor if possible," said Sage. "He starts from the Tower to-morrow. Released, you know." Colonel Walton nodded. "By the way, Thompson, you didn't happen to drop any finger prints about in Waterloo Place?" "Rubber gloves, sir," said Thompson with a smile. Malcolm Sage nodded. "It would embarrass us a bit if you got lodged in Brixton prison," said Colonel Walton. "No chance of that, sir," was the confident retort. "The account will be in the papers this afternoon, I understand." Malcolm Sage nodded. "Well, Finlay," said Walton, "off you go and the best of luck. If you bring this off you ought to get a C.B.E." "Gott in himmel!" cried Finlay in such tragic consternation, that both Colonel Walton and Sage were forced to smile. "No, sir," said Sage drily, "we must guard Department Z. against the Order of the British Empire; it deserves well of the country. "When does he go to Streatham?" enquired Colonel Walton. "I go now," responded Finlay, "if I find the place. These suburbs!" He rolled his eyes expressively. Malcolm Sage smiled grimly. II For some time Mr. Naylor had sat staring in front of him, immobile but for the movement of his eyes and the compression of his pouch-like lips as he swallowed. Irritation or anxiety always caused him to swallow with a noisy gulp-like sound.