"H'm. I thought you were clever enough, Carl. But it seems that you failed," and she sighed wearily. "You know, Molly, I'd do anything for you," replied the young fellow, who was evidently of quite superior class, for he wore his well-cut evening coat and soft-fronted dress-shirt with the ease of one accustomed to such things. And, if the truth were told, he would have been recognised by any of the clerks in the bureau of the Savoy Hotel as one of their most regular customers at dinner or supper. "I know that, Carl," replied the handsome woman impatiently. "But, you see, I had made all my arrangements. The information is wanted hourly in Berlin. It is most urgent." "Well, they'll have to wait, my dear Molly. If I can't get it till to-morrow--I can't." "Why not?" "Oh, what's the good of explaining? Heinrich has gone off down to Brighton with a little friend of his--that's all. He's motored her down to the Metropole, and won't be back till to-morrow. How, in Heaven's name, can I help it?" "I don't suppose you can, my dear boy," laughed the big, overbearing woman, who held the son of the "naturalised" German financier in the grip of her white, bejewelled fingers. "But, all the same, we have both to remember our duty to the Fatherland. We are at war." "True! And haven't I helped the Fatherland? Was it not from information given by me that you knew the truth of the blowing up of the battleship _Bulwark_ off Sheerness, and of the loss of the _Formidable_ on New Year's day? Have I and my friends in Jermyn Street been inactive?" "No, you haven't. Our dear Fatherland owes you and your friends a deep debt of gratitude. But--Well, I tell you, I'm annoyed because my plans have been upset by your failure to-day." "Rodwell's plans, you mean! Not yours!" cried the young fellow, his jealousy apparent. "No, not at all. I don't see why you should so constantly refer to Mr Rodwell. He is our superior, as you know, and in its wisdom Number Seventy has placed him in supreme command." "Then why do you complain of my failure?" protested the young man viciously, placing his cigarette-end in the silver ash-tray. "I don't. I only tell you that it has upset my personal plans. I had hoped to get away down to Torquay to-morrow. I must have a change. I'm run down." "One day does not matter, surely, when our national interests are at stake!" "Of course not, silly boy," laughed the woman. She saw that she was not treating him with tact, and knew his exact value. "Don't let us discuss it any further. See what you can do to-morrow." "I'll compel Heinrich to get at what we want," cried Carl Berenstein-- whose father had, since the war, changed his name, with the consent of the Home Office, of course, to Burton. "I'm as savage as you are that he should prefer to motor a girl to Brighton. But what can I do?" "Nothing, my dear boy. The girl will always win. When you've lived as long as I have, you will understand."