“Now,” said Henry, “will you start at the beginning and say it all over again, please?” Jane did so meekly, but her inward feelings were not meek. Once more she repeated, word for word, and sentence for sentence, the somewhat flamboyant speech of Number Four. Henry’s hand travelled backwards and forwards in the little lane of light, and, word for word, and sentence by sentence, he wrote it down. When he had finished, he read over what he had written. If he had not a photographic memory, he was, at any rate, aware that Jane in her repetition had not varied so much as a syllable from her first statement. He went on looking at what he had written. At last he said: “Jane, I think I must tell you something in confidence. Sir William, as you know, is conducting important experiments for the Government. How important you may perhaps have gathered from the extraordinary precautions which are taken to prevent any leakage of information. These experiments have resulted in two valuable discoveries represented, for purposes of official correspondence, by the terms Formula ‘A’ and Formula ‘B.’ Within the last week we have had indisputable proof that Formula ‘A’ has been offered to a foreign power. That is the reason for my presence here. Now these are facts. Let them sink into your mind, then read over what I have just taken down, and tell me how you square those facts with Renata’s statement.” Jane picked up the notebook, stared at the written words, set Henry’s facts in the forefront of her mind, and remarked candidly: “It does make your head go round rather, doesn’t it?” Henry assented. They both sat silent. Then Jane put down the notebook. “Never mind about our heads going round,” she said. “Let me go on and tell you the rest of it. It isn’t only what Renata heard; it’s the things that keep happening—little things in a way, but oh, Henry, sometimes I think they are more frightening just because they are little things. I mean, supposing you know you’re going to be executed, you brace yourself up, and it’s all in the day’s work, but if you are out at a dinner-party and you suddenly find poison in the soup, or a bomb in the middle of the table decorations, it’s ... well, it’s unexpected—and, and _perfectly beastly_.” Jane’s voice broke just for an instant. Henry’s hand came quickly through the torchlight, and rested on both hers. It was a satisfactorily large and heavy hand. She told him about her interview with Ember at the flat, and one by one she marshalled all the small happenings which had startled and alarmed her. Henry waited until she had quite finished. Then he said: “This lip-reading—you know, my dear girl, it’s a chancy sort of thing; it seems to me that there are unlimited possibilities of mistake.”