"Well--last night I happened to be at the theatre, and in the stalls in front of me sat Trustram with young Sainsbury, the fellow whom we dismissed from the Ochrida office." "Sainsbury!" gasped the other. "Is he on friendly terms with Trustram, do you think?" "I don't think, my dear fellow--I am certain," was the reply. "He had his girl with him, and all three were laughing and chatting merrily together." "His girl? Let me see, we had him watched a few days ago, didn't we? That's a girl living up at Hampstead--daughter of a Birmingham tool-manufacturer, Elise Shearman, isn't she?" remarked Rodwell slowly, his eyebrows narrowing as he spoke. "I believe that was the name. Olsen watched and reported, didn't he?" asked the Baronet. "Yes. I must see him. That young fellow is dangerous to us, Boyle-- distinctly dangerous! He knows something, remember, and he would have told his friend Jerrold--if the latter had not conveniently died just before his visit to Wimpole Street." "Yes. That was indeed a lucky incident--eh?" "And now he is friendly with Charles Trustram. How did they meet, I wonder?" "Trustram was, of course, a friend of Jerrold's." "Ah--I see. Well, we must lose no time in acting," exclaimed Lewin Rodwell in a low, hard voice. "I quite realise the very grave and imminent danger. We may be already suspected by Trustram." "Most probably, I think. We surely can't afford to court disaster any further." "No," was Rodwell's low, decisive answer, and he drew a long breath. "We must act--swiftly and effectively." And then he lapsed into a long silence, during which his active brain was ardently at work in order to devise some subtle and deadly plan which should crush out suspicion and place them both in a position of further safety. At the moment, the British public believed both men to be honest, patriotic supporters of the Government--men who were making much sacrifice for the country's welfare. What if the horrible and disgraceful truth ever became revealed? What if they were proved to be traitors? Why, a London mob would undoubtedly lynch them both, and tear them limb from limb! One man in England knew the truth--that was quite plain--and that man was young Sainsbury, the clerk who had accidentally overheard those indiscreet words in the boardroom in Gracechurch Street. Lewin Rodwell, though ever since that afternoon when he had been so indiscreet he had tried to hide the truth from himself, now realised that, at all hazards, the young man's activity must be cut short, and his mouth closed.