"It is plain you haven’t glanced at the _Evening Wire_. It tells the story rather pithily, beginning with an outbreak of fire on Tuesday night at Gwyll Castle, Denbigh, caused by a short-circuit in the electric-lighting apparatus of the North Tower." He went on: "I waste no time telling you, for all that’s possible has been done now in setting our agents on the track of the flying thief! The North Tower at Gwyll holds the priceless Clanronald library, and the Muniment Chamber, where they bottle up the original MSS. detailing the War Plan of the old Earl. The short-circuit that set up the blaze was—the kind that any amateur can arrange for with rubber gloves, a pair of pliers and a bit of soda-water wire." "Is it known who the amateur was?" "There is reason to suspect one Heir Rassing, an under-librarian of German nationality, who behaved like a hero, according to the local Fire Brigade! He it was, who suggested—Clanronald being absent on a yachting-cruise in the Fjords of Norway—that the contents of the Muniment Chamber should be transferred to the strong-room in the basement of the East Wing. He superintended the removal, armed with knowledge, enthusiasm, and a large-sized Webley Scott revolver, with which he volunteered to keep solitary guard till morning, outside the strong-room door!" "And when daylight came—" hinted Sherbrand. "It discovered the zealous Herr Rassing to be missing, and a corresponding hiatus in the treasures of the Muniment Chamber. Item, a sharkskin case inlaid with ivory figures, Japanese, antique and valuable,—containing the original diagrams—chemical _formulæ_ and so on—embodying the famous Plan." Sherbrand asked. "Was it as tremendous as they tell one?" The crisp voice answered: "Tremendous it not only was, but Is. The most terrible and effective method of annihilating an enemy, that has ever been conceived by the brain of man." Sherbrand said, drawing a deep breath: "And that is what von Herrnung carried in the brown leather valise-thing that he took away with my machine! Not that I trouble about the Bird. She was old, and I’ve got the stuff to build a new one. But my patent—the hawk-hoverer—that’s another pair of shoes!" "The hawk—! Phee-eew!" The Chief whistled a rueful note and his keen eyes softened in sympathy: "I had forgotten your invention. So von Herrnung has scooped for Germany the gyroscopic hovering-apparatus that the French War Ministry were proposing to buy. Now I understand the something about you that has puzzled me. You wear the look of a father, Sherbrand, bereaved of an uncommonly promising son." Saxham’s stern face rose up in Sherbrand’s thought, stamped with that look, and his throat contracted chokingly. The Chief asked: "What sort of man is the mechanic von Herrnung has commandeered? A fellow easy to bribe, or intimidate? It would be worth while to know?"