"Ah! What would the public think if they knew that Count Ernst von Ortmann, who pulls the fingers of the Hidden Hand in our midst, Henry Harberton of Park Lane, and Mr Horton of Wandsworth, were one and the same person, eh?" exclaimed the man, who, though not in uniform, revealed his profession by his bearing. "One day it will be known, dear," said the girl. "And then there will be an end to my father. The Count will believe that my father has betrayed him." "Why do you anticipate that?" "Because only the night before last, when Ortmann called, I overheard him remark to my father that he was the only person who knew his secret, and warning him against any indiscretion, and of the fate which Germany would most certainly meet out to him if any _contretemps_ occurred." "Yes," remarked the air-pilot reflectively. "I suppose that if the authorities really did arrest the inoffensive and popular Mr Harberton, the latter would, no doubt, revenge himself most bitterly upon your father." "Of that I'm perfectly certain, dear. Often I am tempted to relinquish my efforts to combat the evil they try to work against England, and yet the English are my own people--and also yours." "You're a thorough brick, Ella. There's not a girl in all the kingdom who has run greater risks than your dear self, or been more devoted to the British cause. Why, a dozen times you've walked fearlessly into danger, when you might have been blown to atoms by their infernal bombs." "No, no," she laughed. "Don't discuss it here. I've only done what any other girl in my place would have done. Come," she added. "Let's get on and carry out the plan we arranged." "Right-ho!" he replied. "That's the road," he added, pointing straight before him. "According to the map, there's a wood a little way up, where the road forks. We take the left road, skirt another wood past a farm called Danemore, then over a brook, and it's the first house we come to on the right--with another wood close behind it." "Very well," answered the girl. "You'll have a breakdown close to the house--eh?" "That's the arrangement," he laughed, and next minute he was running beside his machine, and was soon away, followed by his mud-bespattered well-beloved. Off they both sped, first down a steep slope, and then gradually mounting through a thick wood where the brown leaves were floating down upon the chilly wind. They passed the farm Kennedy had indicated, crossed the brook by a bumpy, moss-grown bridge, and suddenly the man threw up his hand as a signal that he was pulling-up, and, slowing down, alighted, while his engine gave forth a report like a pistol-shot. Ella, too, dismounted, and saw they were before a good-sized, well-kept farmhouse, which stood a short distance back from the road, surrounded by long red-brick outbuildings. The report had brought out an old farm-hand--a white-bearded old fellow, who was scanning them inquisitively.