“Also, you are wrong on one point,” said the Count, with a little chuckle. “I have had the pleasure of meeting you. It was a trifle informal, I must admit, but you were just as charming as you are now, and I think I am indebted to you to the amount of several shillings. In the end, you did leave me rather abruptly, and seemed offended at something I had done; but I trust you have recovered from that by this time.” Edestone could hear him laughing heartily. “You have met me?” repeated Edestone, completely mystified. “When and where?” “Today; in London. Indeed, I am in London now.” “In London, Count von Hemelstein?” Involuntarily Edestone lowered his voice. “But I say, isn’t that taking a bit of a chance for a German officer? Where are you speaking from now, may I ask?” The Count was laughing so, that just at first he could not answer; but after a moment he managed to control his amusement. “I am in the next booth to you,” he said. When he spoke again, his tone had lost all trace of levity and become hard and direct like that of a man charged with a distasteful duty, yet with which he was determined not to let his feelings interfere. “In regard to our meeting today,” he said; “I was in disguise. In short, I was the taxi-driver whom you gave the slip this afternoon by the aid of that cur, Schmidt. And now, Mr. Edestone, you must realize what it is I want.” In a more conciliatory tone, he added: “I can see no reason, however, why we should not settle this matter as between gentlemen.” “Please be more explicit,” returned Edestone, quietly. “In brief, then, I am authorized by my Government to meet, and even double or quadruple any offer for your invention made by the English Government. I will take your word of honour. All that you have to do is to say now, on your word as a gentleman, that you will sell it to my Government, and you can return to your friends. My Government will then communicate with you, and close with you at your own price.” “And if I decline the proposition?” said Edestone. “Then I fear I shall be compelled to use force; and much as I may regret to do so, I will tell you that I am prepared to stop at nothing. “You are now,” he went on, “locked in that solid oak booth, with its strong double doors, perfectly sound-proof. The operator at the switchboard is my man. He can by pulling a wire uncork a bottle which is concealed in your booth and asphyxiate you in one half minute.” But if he had expected the American to show any trepidation as a result of his threats, he soon found out his mistake. Edestone’s reply was as insouciant as if he had been merely commenting on the weather.