“On the contrary,” O’Shea assured me, “it is elementary. To continue: we now have Mansion House again, or T, followed by British Museum--E, and two Berkeley Squares, hitherto unmentioned. Old Bailey and Crystal Palace crop up next--very defeating--followed by a third Berkeley Square. Then Tower Bridge. This is followed by London Bridge, O, and Bond Street, N. Remembering the name of the Comrade for whom you were mistaken, Decies, I very quickly determined that Berkeley Square stood for L and the word following ‘Noon’ was ‘Tell.’ This gave me a pair of blanks, then L, another blank, and o-n. Wilson was clearly indicated, and I had my complete message. ‘Peter Pan noon, tell Wilson.’” O’Shea replaced his cigarette between his lips and turned to me, smiling. “You mean,” said I, “that you have read the second message?” “Naturally,” he replied. “It is childishly easy, once having got the idea of the nature of the cipher. Without bothering you with details, such as the letters implied by Buckingham Palace, Shepherd’s Market, and Kingsway--places that don’t occur in the first message--I may say that it reads as follows: ‘Porchester Terrace 365A--which I assume to be the number of a house--midnight.’” “Good heavens!” I glanced at the clock. “And he said the order was for to-night!” “To-night,” O’Shea returned, glancing up. “We have two hours.” “We have two hours?” “Precisely,” said he, and his gray eyes surveyed me unblinkingly. “There are certain chances, but there is no game without chances, and we shall be covered by a raid squad from Scotland Yard. Whether Comrade Schmidt is more familiar with the appearance of Comrades Zara and Wilson than his emissary seems to be, I cannot say. But to-night at twelve o’clock I suggest that you and I present ourselves at number 365A Porchester Terrace, as Comrades Zara and Wilson! It is asking a lot, Decies, but are you game?” “Good God!” I said, hesitated for one electric moment, and then held out my hand. O’Shea grasped it. CHAPTER XXVII. THE COMRADES GATHER “Nanette has gone on somewhere to dance,” said O’Shea. “I know.” I stared out of the window of the taxi. “I take it that she doesn’t know where _we_ have gone on to?” “No.” O’Shea’s reply was little more than a whisper, but it told me that which made me at once glad and sorry. For good or for ill, Nanette was winning. “Two things are rather worrying me,” O’Shea confessed. “It is obvious enough that Zara is afraid to visit any of the known centres of the S Group, hence the appointment at Peter Pan. He probably received the letter--or ‘Order’--at some post office, under an assumed name. But if he had read it and decoded it before he dropped it in the taxi, where was he at noon to-day?” “Unable to approach Peter Pan,” I replied promptly, “because we were there, not to mention the man from Scotland Yard who was following the German.”