“Time and Space are an illusion of matter, _Excellenz_. I half forget that you are still subject to it.--Well, Heinrich Biedermann is sitting with a young woman in a restaurant, having tea. They are both very cheerful, for he has just received a remittance from you, and he has bought her a new hat. The sun is setting and he is lost in admiration of the glow of her red hair against the background of the illuminated sky which he can perceive through the window. He is hopelessly in love with her, which is unfortunate, as the lady happens to be a spy, by name Desirée Rochefort, in the pay of the French Secret Service.” “The devil----!” ejaculated the old man. “But,” said Kranz in a puzzled tone. “Sunset?--It is nearly midnight!” The old man turned on him. “Fool! There is a difference of six hours in time between here and America. That proves it--if anything can be proof of such wild improbability!” “Test me again!” said the amused and confident voice of Karl Wertheimer. “Something really difficult this time!” The old man leaned back in his chair and pondered. Then the gleam of an idea came into his malicious gray eyes. “Right!” he said, emphatically. “You know the library in my house?” “Certainly, _Excellenz_!” “Go into my library. Read me the fifteenth line of the ninety-first page of the sixth volume on the third shelf of the right-hand side, without opening the book. Can you do that?” “You shall see, _Excellenz_,” replied the voice, cheerfully. “The sixth volume counting from the left, I presume?” “Yes.” “I will note that,” said Kranz, coming to the table. He wrote the particulars and looked up to his superior. “Do you know what the line is, _Excellenz_?” he asked. “I don’t even know what the book is!” replied the old man, harshly. He wrinkled his brows in impatience at the silence, which prolonged itself through several seconds. The girl seemed quite normally asleep. “Here you are, _Excellenz_!” It was again the mocking voice of Karl Wertheimer which issued from her lips. “The book is Shakespeare. The line is ‘_England, bound in with the triumphant sea._’ Can you interpret the omen, _Excellenz_?” “The U-boat war----” murmured Kranz, as if to himself. “Write it down!” commanded the old man. Kranz wrote the line. His Excellency took up the telephone receiver. “Hallo! Hallo!” He gave a number and waited. “Hallo! Is Wolff there?--Tell him I want him at once! Yes--a thousand devils!--Wolff! my secretary! Are you all deaf?” he vociferated irascibly. “Hallo! Is that you, Wolff? Yes, of course it is I speaking! You ought to know my voice by this time!--Go into the library and get--” He hesitated. Kranz passed him the sheet of paper “--get the sixth volume from the left on the third shelf of the right-hand side. Bring it to the telephone. Hurry now!” Again he waited. There was a tense silence in the room, a silence which was emphasized by the heavy and regular breathing of the sleeping girl.