I understood this significant passage. It meant that Berlin was sending independent agents to England to try their luck, and I was determined to justify myself in the eyes of the Fatherland. I sent for Posser and Klein to come to my room and I outlined my views and gave my final instructions. Posser gave me encouraging news. He told me that Bluer had secured some information of the greatest importance. It appears that the Government had sent for a rough drawing of the bomb, and that one of the engineers was coming next night to make the drawing and a copy of the secret specification, and that the original was kept in a safe in the records office. The combination safe opened to the word “Track” and the specification would be found in No. 3 drawer, the lock of which could be picked. So far, so good, but the situation was still desperate. It was as clear as daylight that my chief difficulty was going to be, not to circumvent the manager, but to get past the guard which the secret service had set up. It was then a struggle between Miss Harrymore and Heine. Very well! Heine picks up the gauntlet with a clear mind and a high confidence in his German genius. Klein saw Bluer on the following afternoon and an unexpected difficulty arose. Bluer, if you please, had discovered a conscience! This renegade, this traitor to the Fatherland, this dirty Swabian refused to go any farther in the matter! “The English have always treated me well,” he told Klein; “my children have been born in the country and I have friends here. I cannot help you any more, Herr Klein. I should not only be a traitor to the English, but a traitor to the Internationale, if I betrayed my employers. You have the combination word--I can do no more.” “Are you a German?” asked Klein sternly. “Ja!” replied Bluer, “but I’m not a fool.” “If you refuse your help,” said Klein, who was by now filled with holy annoyance, “you are a traitor to your Kaiser and to your Fatherland. The curses of unborn generations of Germans will be upon you. Every German will shun you and spit upon your name, which shall be ‘accursed.’” “Herr Klein,” said Bluer with emotion, “I think that anyway all the world will spit upon the name of a German after this war is over.” Klein threatened and argued, pleaded and raved, but all to no purpose. “I have told you where you will find the specifications,” said Bluer doggedly; “you have a plan of the factory--which is not guarded--and you know the way to the records room. In telling you this I have done more than I ought to have done. If you threaten me any more I will go for the police and tell them all I know.” Ingrate! Rascal! Black swine of Würtemberg! I paced my room cursing the villain, and Klein stood by in respectful silence as I “let off steam,” as the British say.