O’Shea adjusted his monocle and looked me over in a way that I didn’t like. “Really, Decies,” he replied, “considering the admirable assistance which you have given me in this matter--for which I shall always be grateful--there are times when you defeat me. Why our German friend reposed his confidence in us I have no more idea than the Man in the Moon, nor why he confided this letter to my keeping. But his reference to Zara brands him a member of the S Group, without the significant fact that he is being followed by an officer of the Special Branch, whom I chance to know but who does not know me. The weary arm of coincidence is not long enough to embrace all these happenings, Decies. There is some other explanation. Let us see if it is here.” He tore open the envelope and withdrew a single sheet of paper. I bent forward eagerly, and over his shoulder read the following: Charing Cross, London Bridge, Hyde Park, and the Strand are all worthy of a visit. Kingsway is modern, but the British Museum, Tower Bridge, the Mansion House, especially the British Museum, must not be neglected. Hyde Park merits several visits. The Mansion House, or the British Museum, can be done in one day, but Hyde Park is the only Hyde Park, whilst Piccadilly and the Strand are merely thoroughfares. The British Museum exhibit 365A is not in the National Gallery. The Crystal Palace does not resemble Buckingham Palace and Bond Street is not the Station for the Crystal Palace. Shepherd’s Market is a survival. But book at Kingsway. Meet you at the Mansion House. “And now,” said O’Shea, “you know as much as I do!” I stared at him blankly, and, as I stared, heard clocks, near and remote, strike the hour of noon. O’Shea suddenly thrust the second letter into his pocket and began to study that which Nanette had given to me. He looked up, staring intently at the figure of Peter Pan, then: “Twelve o’clock,” he muttered. “Does the fact that it is twelve o’clock convey anything to you, Decies?” “Nothing,” I confessed, “except that I feel thirsty.” But it had conveyed something more to O’Shea. A distinguished officer is not relieved of his ordinary duties and dispatched to the Argentine upon the toss of a coin. He is selected for his special qualifications. That O’Shea’s qualifications were extensive I had already learned; that they were also peculiar was beginning to dawn upon me. CHAPTER XXVI. THE CRYPTOGRAM Nanette was with a party at the Hippodrome that night, and I had promised to look in during the interval. The curtain had just fallen and the orchestra was playing as I entered with O’Shea. The manager met us at the top of the steps. No doubt you remember him. He is unforgettable, being the best-dressed manager in Europe. He was delighted to meet O’Shea and much happier in greeting an officer of the Household troops who had come in for a drink than in endorsing a plebeian check for the use of the Royal box.