Charles Trustram drew heavily at the fine cigar his host had given him, and sighed. The terrible charges of treason against his dead friend and young Sainsbury were indeed astounding. Yet he, as an official, knew full well that the Director of Intelligence did not take such steps as had been taken without some very firm and sound basis for prosecution. The Department generally erred upon the side of leniency, and always gave the accused the benefit of the doubt. That there was to be a court-martial was, indeed, a very significant fact. "I suppose you are sending out troops to the Dardanelles?" remarked Lewin Rodwell carelessly, after a short silence. "I saw the announcement in to-day's papers?" "Yes. It will be a far tougher proposition than we at first believed. That's the general opinion at the Admiralty. We have three troop-ships leaving Southampton to-morrow, and four are leaving Plymouth on Friday-- all for Gallipoli." "Of course they'll have escorts," Rodwell remarked, making a mental note of that most important information. "As far as Gibraltar." "Not farther? Aren't you afraid of German submarines?" "Not after they have passed the Straits. The drafts we are sending out this week are the most important we have yet despatched. The American liners _Ellenborough_ and _Desborough_ are also taking out troops to Egypt to-morrow." "From Plymouth, I suppose?" "Yes. All the drafts for Egypt and Gallipoli are going via Plymouth in future," was Trustram's innocent reply. Those few unguarded words might cost the British Empire several thousand officers and men, yet it seemed as though Trustram never dreamed the true character of the unscrupulous spy with whom he was seated, or the fact that the woman Kirby--whom he had never seen--was seated in an adjoining room, patiently awaiting his departure. What, indeed, would Charles Trustram have thought had he known the true import of that vital information which he had imparted to his friend, under the pledge of confidence. The bombardment of Scarborough, Hartlepool and Whitby had been directly due to what he had divulged, though he was in ignorance of the truth. More than once, however, he had reflected upon it and wondered. Yet after all he had dismissed such suspicion as utterly absurd. To suspect Lewin Rodwell of any dealings with the enemy was utterly ridiculous. No finer nor truer Englishman had ever breathed. The very thought of such a thing caused him to ridicule himself. He rose at half-past eleven, and, warmly shaking his friend's hand, asked: "Will you dine with me to-morrow at the Club?" Rodwell hesitated; then, consulting his little pocket diary, replied-- "I'm awfully sorry, my dear fellow, but I am due to speak in Lincoln to-morrow night. Any other night I'll be delighted." "Thursday next, then, at eight o'clock--eh?" "Good. It's an appointment," and he scribbled it down.