I raised my eyes. Nanette was stifling laughter. Now she stifled it no longer. And Nanette’s laughter was very sweet music. “Of course,” she confessed, “I know it _seems_ perfectly idiotic! But one never knows. It may mean a general strike or something. But whatever it means, I shall have to be pushing along. I am meeting Mumsy at Marshall’s.” She stood up, looking sharply to right and left, and I wondered what this might portend. However, we took the path to the Gate, walking very slowly, and from there proceeded in a taxi. I dropped Nanette at her destination and was standing outside the shop wondering whether to walk over to the Club or to hunt up O’Shea, when an explanation of this chance meeting presented itself. O’Shea, I recalled, had once said, in Nanette’s presence, that when he had a difficult problem upon his mind, he varied the ordinary routine of a London morning. Other duties permitting, he walked as far as Peter Pan, and in the presence of the little god not infrequently discovered a solution of his difficulties. Nanette had been unfortunate. This morning O’Shea had not come. I reëntered the taxi which I had kept waiting, and: “Lancaster Gate,” I directed. Why I did so I have no idea; but experience has taught me that the motives which prompt many far-reaching actions are so obscure as to defy subsequent research. Discharging the man, I set out along that path beside the Serpentine. The hour was now approaching noon, and platoons of white-capped nursemaids promenaded with the younger generation. I found myself surrounded by future society beauties; statesmen who would be making laws when I was an old man; great soldiers destined to save the British Empire from enemies yet unborn; actresses whose reputations might overshadow the memory of Sarah Bernhardt; princesses, dukes, vagabonds, thieves; some in perambulators, others in miniature automobiles, some toddling; a fascinating crowd. Then I awakened from my day dream. Standing squarely in front of Peter Pan, and watching that youthful deity with a fixed stare, was O’Shea! He remained unaware of my presence until I touched him on the shoulder. He turned swiftly. And I saw a far-away look in his gray eyes instantly change to one of close scrutiny; then: “Decies,” he said, “I am glad to see you. I learned something last night.” “What?” I said. “I learned why Adolf Zara has come to England! The president of the S Group--a person with the mentality of a Tomsky and the morals of a baboon--is one Schmidt.” “Well?” said I. “Schmidt is in London!” CHAPTER XXV. THE SECOND MESSAGE “Of course,” I said, “it may mean nothing.” O’Shea raised his eyes from the extraordinary communication that I had handed to him, and: “Or it may mean everything!” he added.