"I venture to hope that while Clanronald was about it—he collected the submarine?" "Unfortunately, no! And, very regrettably, the collapsible boat in which the raiders had made their midnight visit was swamped when the two others—there had been four of them!—jumped into her to make off. Presumably they could swim and were picked up by the submarine—Undersea Boat No. 14—according to the testimony of one of the prisoners. The other of whom—an officer and leader of the foray—took poison, and was found dead in the cabin that served for his prison-cell. The other, a mere seaman, is too dazed with terror to be intelligible—according to Clanronald. But the whole thing is interesting!" "Hugely and instructively. As shedding," said the General, "a certain light upon a mystery that baffled the wiseacres in 1913. I refer to the mysterious disappearance of the engineer-inventor Riesl from his cabin aboard a Hamburg Line, Leith-bound steamer. With a contract in his pocket for the supply of crude-oil-consuming marine motor-engines to the Navy of a Power—other than the German Government!" "Possibly!—possibly! One never knows what forces are working beneath the surface." The set, brick-dust face and grave sagacious eyes of the great soldier seemed to testify to his complete innocence of anything like a _double-entendre_. He ended as the War Minister dismissed the secretary from the Admiralty, and turned again to Sir Roland, saying in his most pompous tones: "Twelve o’clock to-morrow, then, General. Meanwhile, pray convey to his parents my admiration—in which I feel the First Lord will concur—of the remarkable qualities manifested by young Saxham! Astonishing devotion to duty, and courageous self-reliance! He should have lived!—he would have made a noble man!" Came the curt reply: "He is alive now! I am convinced of it!" The Minister gave the speaker a glance of incredulity. It was so very clear to the War Secretary’s logical mind that the child and the man were drowned. But the harsh voice of the great Field Marshal, England’s most faithful friend, who was to succeed him in his place of power, answered for him: "One would expect you to stick to your guns, General. Should you prove right before I sail for Egypt, bring him to see me!" "I promise that, faithfully, my lord." They shook hands and parted. It seemed a long week until the morrow when the secret of Robert Foulis came home to roost at Whitehall. But it ended, and twelve o’clock brought that keenly-desired opportunity of examining the cut lock-strap and the empty, knife-scored satchel in the official sanctum of the First Lord Commissioner for the Admiralty, and in the presence of that functionary. "There seems—ah!" the First Lord mounted a pair of gold-rimmed pince-nez, "to be something in the nature of an address scratched upon the leather!" Sir Roland corroborated, after a brief inspection: