"Now you're laughing at me," he protested. "However, I'm going right on with it and then we will dismiss all serious subjects. Miss Beverley has certainly quit herself of any obligation to Jocelyn Thew. Richard Beverley is no longer free. Besides, he has only a couple of days in England, so there's very little chance of his being of use. Yet," he continued impressively, "I happen to know that every hour just now is of the greatest importance to Jocelyn Thew. Why does he spend another entire evening with these two?" "Say, which of us is the detective--you or me?" she demanded. "Professionally, I suppose I am," he admitted. "Just now, however, I consider myself as indulging in the relaxation of private life." She leaned across the table towards him, her chin supported by her clenched hands. "Then relax all you want to," she begged, with a smile of invitation. "We'll drop the other stunt, if you don't mind. And please remember, though I've never enjoyed a dinner more in my life, that we don't want to be too late for the Empire." Crawshay returned to his rooms about one o'clock the next morning, with his hat a little on the back of his head, and wearing, very much against his prejudice, a white rose in his buttonhole. Brightman, who was awaiting him there, looked up eagerly at his entrance. "Any luck, Mr. Crawshay?" Crawshay laid his hat and coat upon the table and mixed himself a whisky and soda. "I am not sure," he replied thoughtfully. "Are you any good at English history, Brightman?" "I won an exhibition in my younger days," the detective replied. "I used to consider myself rather great on history." "Who won the Wars of the Roses?" "The Lancastrians, of course." Crawshay nodded. "They were the chaps with the red roses, weren't they?" he observed. "Brightman, I fancy we are going to reverse that. I am laying five to one that I've found out how Jocelyn Thew counts on getting his spoils into Germany." CHAPTER XXII The dinner of the red roses, as though in emulation of its rival entertainment, seemed on its way to complete success. Jocelyn Thew, from whose manner there seemed to have departed much of the austerity of the previous evening, had never been a more brilliant companion. He, who spoke so seldom of his own doings, told story after story of his wanderings in distant countries, until even Katharine lost her fears of the situation and abandoned herself to the enjoyment of the moment. His tone was kindlier and his manner more natural. He spoke with regret of Richard Beverley's departure in a couple of days, and only once did he hint at anything in the least disturbing. "Wonderful feat, that of you flying men," he remarked, "dropping ten thousand copies of Wilson's speech over the German lines. I am not sure that it isn't rather a dangerous precedent, though." "Why dangerous?" Katharine enquired.