Presently there was a slight sound in the hall below and the Colonel went to the door of the room. “She is here,” he said and passed out to the landing to meet Kate. She was wearing a dark coat-dress and a big black fox wrap which she loosened and flung off as she came into the room. It was notable that the Colonel, who had every right to complain of her unpunctuality, did not attempt to criticize her for her late arrival, other than to make mild reference to the fact that he had expected her earlier. She looked around the room. “Where is Millet?” she asked. “Millet is working on the telegrams,” he said and she nodded, satisfied. “Everything is ready now,” she said. “Did you see Boltover, Mr. Mulberry?” He rose and came toward her with that noiseless step of his. “A most amiable young man,” he said in his unctuous sing-song voice, “such a pleasant young man! We had a very long talk together.” “And?” “We arranged everything.” He took a long envelope from his pocket, pulled out a stiff parchment and handed it to her with the gravity and deference of an ambassador delivering a treaty to his sovereign lady. She ran her eyes quickly over the document, turned its crinkling page and read rapidly to the last flourishing signatures. “That’s all right,” she said and returned the document. The long table had been placed in the middle of the room and to this, without instructions, the whole of the company had drawn. Colonel Westhanger sat at one end and Kate at the other. From her bag she took a thick roll of manuscript, cut the strings that fastened it and smoothed the sheets out before her. One by one she called their names at the same time handing them, in some cases one, in other cases two or three sheets covered with writing. “You have a week to master all this,” she said, “and in a week’s time we will meet again and I will see that everybody understands.” She caught Jacques’ eye. “About men?” she said. “How many have you arranged for?” “Sixty,” he said; “I have been bringing them into England for the past month.” “Will sixty be enough?” she asked dubiously. “How many did we use for the Bank of Edinburgh?” “That was a different job,” said Jacques; “we had to cut through thirty feet of concrete. I used two hundred and twenty in relays of thirty.” “Sixty will be quite enough,” she said after a moment’s thought. “You will see that I have allowed only for fifty, but if they are the right kind of people--” “They are all good men, most of them from Italy, a few of them from France and one Portuguese. They are the pick of my men and represent years of organisation.” “You have full details there, Cunningham,” she said, turning to that dour man. “I took a shorthand note about the gold train, the driver and the officials who will be on the train and I have all their addresses except one. You will find a cross against that; I think the address is Berne Street, Seahampton, but I had no time to verify it.”