“Hallo! Are you there?--Is that you, Wolff? Be quiet! Answer my questions!--Have you got the book?--Right--What is it?--An English book?--Shakespeare--right!--Now turn up page--page ninety-one. Got it?--Count to the fifteenth line----” He turned from the telephone to Kranz. “Write down what I repeat!” Then again speaking into the telephone: “Yes? Read out the line!--what?--‘_England, bound in with the triumphant sea_’--a thousand devils!--Wolff! Wolff! wait a minute!--where did you find the book? On the shelf? Had it been touched? You are sure that it had not been touched--not opened? Oh, you have been in the library all the evening, working----” “Tell him that the love-poem he has been writing to Fräulein Mimi in your library to-night is not only banal but it does not scan,” interjected the mocking voice of Karl Wertheimer. “The line ‘_Unsere Herzen schlagen rhythmisch_’ is particularly bad.” The old man glanced toward the vacant air over the girl and grinned. He repeated the message into the telephone. He waited a moment--and then burst into chuckling laughter. “_Famos!_--He’s smashed the receiver. Scared out of his life!--I heard him yell.” He put down the instrument and turned again to the chair. “Karl Wertheimer, I believe in your reality--I believe in your powers.” His voice was solemn. “The Fatherland has work for you to do.” “That is why I am here, _Excellenz_.” The voice came jauntily through the expressionless lips of the unconscious girl. The old man pursed his mouth under the clipped white moustache and pondered. Kranz watched him with acute interest. “Listen!” said the old man, looking up in a sudden decision. “At the present time the Allied Military Missions in Washington are negotiating with the United States Government with regard to the despatch of the American Army to Europe, for the coming campaign. We know this--we know that any day now they may come to an agreement. It is of the utmost importance to us that we should know, _immediately_, the numbers promised and the schedule of sailings. The fate of the world depends upon it. The secret will be most jealously guarded--triply locked out of reach of any ordinary agent. Can you read it, as you read the line in that closed book?” “I can, _Excellenz_--if you can give me some indication where to look,” replied the voice. “We must, so to speak, _focus_ ourselves--I can’t now explain the conditions with us, but you will understand what I mean--spirit pervades----” For the first time in the colloquy the voice spoke with hesitation, as though despairing of explaining the inexplicable. “Direction--definite direction--is essential----” “H’m,” the old man grunted. “Well, I suggest Forsdyke--you know, the permanent Chief of Department--as the man most likely to prepare the schedule. You know where he lives?” “The very house in Washington!” replied the voice triumphantly. “Good enough! I will do my best, _Excellenz_.”