With him Edestone went down to the trunks and took from one of them a small receiving instrument with a dial attachment similar to the one on top of the Deionizer, which he had dropped into the Channel. Then after a few words with his other friends in the Embassy, he went back to the hotel. The next morning Count von Hemelstein called, and it was quite like meeting an old friend. Edestone was really sorry when, the Count leaving him at the door of General Headquarters said: “This is where I turn you over to my superiors. These are times that try men’s souls, and you are now dealing with men who must win.” They had arrived on the stroke of the hour, and Edestone was quickly taken in charge and shown without a moment’s delay into the presence of General von Lichtenstein. The General was a man whose age was impossible to tell. He was over sixty, but how much over one found it hard to estimate. He was erect and rather thin, and he wore his uniform with the care of a much younger man. The lines about his mouth and chin, which are such a sure index, were hidden by a full beard, white as snow and rather long. His high forehead was half covered by a huge shock of hair, also perfectly white, which was parted neatly on the side. His steel-blue eyes, looking out through a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, were bright, but were set so far back under his heavy brows that they looked very old, very wise, and almost mysterious. When Edestone was brought into the room without any form of introduction, the General rose and greeted him in the most kind and fatherly manner. “Good-morning, Mr. Edestone,” he said in English with a marked accent. “I am very glad to see you,” and, putting out his hand with an air of simple kindness as if to lead him to a chair, he said: “Won’t you sit down, sir? “You must not mind if I treat you like a boy,” he went on with a gentle smile; “you are about the age of my own son who was killed at Ypres. I am too old to fight any more, so they keep me here to entertain distinguished strangers like yourself,” and he laughed quietly to himself, looking at Edestone as he might at a little boy whom he had just told that he had on a very pretty suit of clothes. He picked up from his desk, a box of very large cigars, selected two, and, after looking very carefully at one to see that it was absolutely perfect, handed it without a word to Edestone. After he had watched with great interest to see that Edestone had lighted his cigar properly, he lighted his own. “I see by the way you smoke that you are a good judge of tobacco. I have always understood that you Americans like very fresh cigars and smoke them immediately after they are made. I like them old myself.” “You are thinking of Cuba, perhaps,” suggested Edestone.