"Ah! my dear Theodore," exclaimed the Count, in German, throwing himself back in the old wicker armchair in that cheaply furnished room. "Your machine was too elaborate." "No, you are mistaken, it was simplicity itself," Drost declared. "Could anybody have tampered with it, do you think?" "Certainly not. Nobody knew--nobody saw it except ourselves and Rozelaar," Drost said. "And we very nearly blew ourselves up with it during the test. Do you remember?" laughed Ortmann. "Remember! I rather think I do. It was, indeed, a narrow escape. We won't repeat it. I'll be more careful, I promise you!" Drost assured his paymaster. "Yet I cannot guess how Rozelaar lost his life." "Well, we need not trouble. His was not exactly a precious life, Theodore, was it? The fellow knew a little too much, so, for us, it is perhaps best that the accident should have happened." "It is not the first time that fatal accidents have happened to those who, having served Germany, are of no further use," remarked Drost grimly. And at his remark the crafty Count--the man who directed the German octopus in Britain--smiled, but remained silent. Though Ella, still at Barnes, kept both eyes and ears open during the day--compelled, of course, to go to the theatre each evening--yet she could discover no solid fact which might lead her to find out what was in progress. The Count came very often over to Barnes, and on two or three occasions was accompanied by a fair-haired young man whose real name was Schrieber, but who had changed it to Sommer, and declared himself to be a Swiss. Indeed, he had forged papers just as old Drost possessed. The fabrication of identification-papers--with photographs attached--became quite an industry in Germany after war had broken out, while many American passports were purchased from American "crooks" and fresh photographs cleverly superimposed. One afternoon the young man Schrieber called, remained talking alone with Drost for about ten minutes, and then left. Presently the old man entered the drawing-room wherein his daughter was seated writing a letter. In his hand he carried a china vase about fourteen inches high, the dark-blue ornamentation being very similar to a "willow-pattern" plate. It was shaped something like a Greek amphora, and quite of ordinary quality. "Ella, dear," said her father, handing her the vase, "I wish you could get one exactly like this. You'll be able to get it quite easily at one of the big stores in the West End. A friend of mine has a pair, and has broken one." "Certainly, dad," was the girl's reply. "I'm going out this afternoon, and I'll take it with me." That afternoon Ella Drost went to several shops until at last, at one in Oxford Street, she found the exact replica. They were in pairs, and she was compelled to buy both. Later on she took them to Barnes, but before doing so she called in at her own flat and there left the superfluous vase.