“Bridgeford,--or Hodges, as you knew him,--was sent to this city from London. For a long time he worked independently. A few days before his death, we received instructions from Washington to get in touch with him. That was the first we knew of him, I'll confess. The British Foreign Office advised our department that he had finally got hold of something big and tangible. But evidently the German Foreign Office also was wise to him. He reported to us on the afternoon of the day he was killed. He said that the time was not yet ripe to take positive steps, but that he would soon have the goods on four or five prominent people. He gave us the names of these people. Two of them he was sure about, the others were in doubt. Believe me, they _were_ prominent. We were to hold off till he said the word. That night he was killed. But they didn't do it soon enough. We had all his data, incomplete as it was, and we've followed it up. That's why I am here this evening.” He paused; and Carstairs said, harshly: “Well, go on,--why do you hesitate?” “We know now, beyond all possible doubt, that information of the most vital character has reached the German Admiralty and the Foreign Office through Mrs. Carstairs,” said Jones deliberately. “I may be pardoned if I repeat that it is a damned lie,” said Carstairs, gripping the arms of his chair. “You have said just what you were expected to say, Mr. Carstairs. Before I have finished, however, you will realize that it is not a damned lie. I am authorized to exhibit certain memoranda from the Department. You will then agree with us that the information came from this house,--from this apartment, in fact.” “In the light of what happened last night, I may go so far as to concede that such may have been the case. Permit me to remind you of the suicide of Captain--” He broke off abruptly, struck by the expression in the other's face. Jones shook his head slowly. There was genuine distress in his voice when he spoke. “Captain Steele was murdered, Mr. Carstairs,” he said. “He did not kill himself.” Carstairs sprang to his feet. For an instant a flash of joy transfigured his face. [Illustration: 0169] “By 'gad, I knew it,--I knew it! I would have staked my soul on that boy's honour. Murdered? My God! And for what hellish purpose is his name blackened by the foul reports given to the press by your--”