That night I again saw Alexander. It was at supper at the Fritz, and he looked a fine figure of a man. I felt proud of the country which could produce such a type. Where, I ask you, amongst the paunchy English and the scraggy Scotch, with their hairy knees and their sheep-shank legs, could you find a counterpart of that _beau sabreur_? Cower, treacherous Albion, shiver in your kilt, hateful Scotch (it is not generally known that the Royal and High-Born Prince Rupprecht of Bavaria is rightful King of Scotland), tremble, wild Wales and unreliable Ireland, when you come in arms against a land which can produce such men as Alexander Koos! I never saw a girl look more radiantly happy than did the young woman who was sitting _vis-à-vis_ my friend. There was a light in her eye and a colour in her cheeks which were eloquent of her joy. I saw Alexander afterwards. He came secretly to my rooms. “Have you brought the blue print?” I asked. He shook his head smilingly. “To-morrow, my friend, not only the blue print of the lathe, not only the new gun-mounting model, but the lady herself will come to me. I want your permission to leave the day after to-morrow for home. I cannot afford to wait for what the future may bring.” “Can you smuggle the plans past the English police?” I asked, a little relieved that he had volunteered to act as courier on so dangerous a mission. “Nothing easier.” “And the girl--have you her passport?” He nodded. “How far shall you take her?” “To Rotterdam,” he said promptly. In a way I was sorry. Yes, I am sentimental, I fear, and “sentiment does not live in an agent’s pocket,” as the saying goes. I wish it could have been done without. I shrugged my shoulders and steeled my soul with the thought that she was English and that it was all for the Fatherland. “You must come to the Café Riche to-night and witness our going,” said Alexander; “you will observe that she will carry a leather case such as schoolgirls use for their books and exercises. In that case, my friend, will be enough material to keep our friends in Berlin busy for a month.” I took leave of him, giving him certain instructions as to the course he was to take after reporting at Headquarters, and spent the rest of the night coding a message for our Alexander to carry with him. I snatched a few hours’ sleep between telephone calls, and rising at noon I read the morning papers (full of lies, as are all British papers, though the Americans are worse) and went through the picture postcards which my kind friends von Kahn and von Wetzl had sent to me. If you had seen those postcards with their long “holiday messages,” I wonder if you would have taken a magnifying glass to search for minute pinpricks under certain letters and words? I did, because I was a chief of a bureau unequalled in the world for ingenuity and prescience.