Two years before the war Mr Henry Harberton, a wealthy, middle-aged English merchant from Buenos Ayres, had suddenly arisen in the social firmament in the West End, had given smart dinners, and, as an eligible bachelor, had been smiled upon by many mothers with marriageable daughters. His luncheon-parties at the Savoy, the Ritz, and the Carlton were usually chronicled in the newspapers; he was financially interested in a popular revue at a certain West End theatre, and the rumour that he was immensely wealthy was confirmed when he purchased a fine house half-way up Park Lane--a house from which, quite unsuspected, radiated the myriad ramifications of Germany's spy system. With Henry Harberton, whose father, it was said, had amassed a huge fortune in Argentina in the early days, and which he had inherited, money was of no account. The fine London mansion was sombre and impressive in its decoration. There was nothing flamboyant or out-of-place, nothing that jarred upon the senses: a quiet, calm, and restful residence, the double windows of which shut out the sound of the motor-'buses and taxis of that busy thoroughfare where dwelt London's commercial princes. Surely that fine house was in strange contrast to the obscure eight-roomed one in a long, drab terrace in Park Road, Wandsworth Common, where dwelt the same mysterious person in very humble and even economical circumstances as Mr Horton, a retired tradesman from the New Cross Road. As Ortmann sat in that big dining-room in Park Lane, a plainly decorated apartment with dead white walls in the Adams style, and a few choice family portraits, his friend, Drost, with his strange triangular face, his square forehead and pointed grey beard, presented a picture of the true type of Dutch pastor, in his rather seedy clerical coat and his round horn-rimmed spectacles. The pair had been discussing certain schemes to the detriment of the English: schemes which, in the main, depended upon the crafty old Drost's expert knowledge of high-explosives. "Ah! my dear Count!" exclaimed the wily old professor of chemistry in German, as he replaced his glass upon the table. "How marvellously clever is our Emperor! How he befooled and bamboozled these silly sheep of English. Listen to this!" and from his pocket-book he drew a large newspaper cutting--two columns of a London daily newspaper dated Wednesday, October 28, 1908. "What is that?" inquired the Kaiser's arch-spy, his eyebrows narrowing.