"Who knows?" remarked the other, shrugging his shoulders. "We all of us have our skeletons in our cupboards. Possibly his might have been rather uglier than others?" Rodwell remained thoughtful. Mention of that pocket-book, of which Jerrold had obtained possession, caused him to ponder. That it was in the hands of the Intelligence Department was the reverse of comforting. He had known of the arrest of Otto Hartwig, alias Hart, who had, for many years before the war, carried on business in Kensington, but this was the first he had learnt that anything had been found upon the prisoner. He endeavoured to gain some further details from Trustram, but the latter had but little knowledge. "All I know," he said, "is that the case occupied poor Jerrold fully a month of patient inquiry and watchful vigilance. At last his efforts were rewarded, for he was enabled to follow the man down to Portsmouth, and actually watch him making inquiries there--gathering facts which he intended to transmit to the enemy." "How?" asked Rodwell quickly. "Ah! that's exactly what we don't know. That there exists a rapid mode of transmitting secret intelligence across the North Sea is certain," replied the Admiralty official. "We've had illustrations of it, time after time. Between ourselves, facts which I thought were only known to myself--facts regarding the transport of troops across the Channel--have actually been known in Berlin in a few hours after I have made the necessary arrangements." "Are you quite certain of that?" Rodwell asked, with sudden interest. "Absolutely. It has been reported back to us by our friends in Germany." "Then we do have friends in Germany?" remarked Rodwell, with affected ignorance. "Oh, several," was the other's reply. Then, in confidence, he explained how certain officers had volunteered to enter Germany, posing as American citizens and travelling from America with American passports. He mentioned two by name--Beeton and Fordyce. The well-dressed man lolling in his chair, smoking as he listened, made a mental note of those names, and grinned with satisfaction at Trustram's indiscretions. Yet, surely, the Admiralty official could not be blamed, for so completely had Lewin Rodwell practised the deception that he believed him to be a sterling Englishman, red-hot against the enemy and all his knavish devices. "I suppose you must be pretty busy at the Admiralty just now--eh? The official account of the Battle of the Falklands in to-night's papers is splendid reading. Sturdee gave Admiral von Spee a very nasty shock. I suppose we shall hear of some other naval successes in the North Sea soon--eh?" Trustram hesitated for a few seconds. "Well, not just yet," was his brief reply. "Why do you say `not yet'?" he asked with a laugh. "Has the Admiralty some thrilling surprise in store for us? Your people are always so confoundedly mysterious."