The first discovery I made when I began my investigations was that Leatham Priory was not in Shropshire at all. It was in fact in Buckinghamshire, midway between Maidenhead and the small town of Beaconsfield. It was a remarkable mistake for the good Baron who, as a sporting man, was well acquainted with England, to have made, or rather it would have been remarkable, but for my knowledge of our German characteristics. Naturally his Excellency was as vague as possible. It was not his business to take risks, and if it should ever come out that he had told me of Leatham Priory, or if he had been overheard, how could anyone believe that this sport-racer, who had dined and slept in almost all the country houses in England, could make so great a mistake as to place Lord Leatham’s estate in Shropshire, when it was in Buckinghamshire? Oh, yes, Heine was alert and wide-awake! I sent a good friend down into Buckingham (or Bucks as they call it) to discover what was happening and he brought back the news that Lord Leatham’s house, the Priory, was being extensively decorated and refurnished. Now, I know that the English, because of their fear of Germany, treat German officer prisoners with the greatest kindness, but I could not believe, in view of certain outcries in the public press to which I contributed my share, that they would spend large sums of money to furnish magnificently a country house for Germans, and I saw that even as the Herr Baron had been inaccurate in one particular, so was it likely that he had been wilfully “misinformed” in another. I bided my time, for I knew that the significance of the Baron’s communication would be revealed. In the meanwhile, I myself had paid a visit to the ground and had discovered, not without a great deal of difficulty, the end of the subterranean passage. It needed some furtive digging, for the end had fallen in and was entirely covered up, before I could make sure that I had discovered the entrance. The day, or rather the very early morning, I wriggled through the débris and found myself in a small paved tunnel, smelling terribly musty, was the day on which I understood the purport of the Baron’s communication. On that day the papers announced that there was to be a great War Council in London. There had arrived military representatives of all the Powers, and I, standing in Whitehall, had seen these officers enter the War Office, where they remained for two or three hours, when they were escorted by British officers to Downing Street, where again they remained some time.