I now come to the remarkable part of this narrative, one which I cannot tell without a little shudder. Bluer and his relative certainly made an attempt to locate the specifications and drawings. I will do this un-German Teuton (to whom Klein was eventually compelled to reveal something of his designs) the credit of saying that he tried his best--but for a week he and his relative were unsuccessful. The manager was a gentleman named Tyson, or Tynson, a good-looking man of about twenty-eight. Naturally, I had set my people to work to find out all particulars about every member of the firm, and it was reported to me that Tyson had been frequently seen in the company of a very beautiful lady, named Miss Harrymore. I put my own men on to discover something about Miss Harrymore, and found that she was a stranger to Manchester; that she had only arrived a month previous to my appearance on the scene; and that she occupied a small house which she had taken furnished in the most fashionable suburb of the Lancashire city. She had come from London and almost immediately had made friends with the manager. This in itself was to me a most remarkable circumstance, because Manchester people are very suspicious, almost as distrustful as the Scotch, and I wondered what inducement there was to cause this young man to contract so sudden a friendship. They used to dine occasionally and they went to the theatre together once a week, but there was no evidence that the friendship was a very warm one. Miss Harrymore had been a dancer; but apparently had retired from the stage--at least that was the story which her maid told Posser, who investigated the matter. I smoked many cigars over this friendship and formed certain conclusions, especially after I had learnt that on the nights Mr. Tyson was working late the lady had driven down to the factory in her car, had spent some little time in the manager’s office, and had driven that gentleman to supper. I have already told you of my disbelief in the existence of a secret service in England, but I had modified that view after the experience of my poor friend Koos, who was brought to an untimely end through the artfulness of a chit of a girl. Naturally I was suspicious of beautiful ladies who were on terms of furtive friendship with Government officials--and to all intents and purposes Tyson was a Government official--and I kept my eyes “skinned,” as they say in England. The business of the bomb was worrying me more than I cared to confess to my assistants. A third message had come through from Berlin, even more urgent than the last, and one paragraph of that message considerably disturbed me. It ran: “Whilst we expect you to secure these plans we are leaving nothing to chance. We hope, however, that the credit for securing them will fall to you.”