The stout, roundabout figure of this little man who spoke English with an accent, who loved the freedom, the customs, and the institutions of Great Britain, and who had waxed rich and prosperous because of the protection and many opportunities which the country or her possessions had given him, rolled round in the deep armchair in which he was seated, while his hand groped for a cut-glass tumbler standing on an adjacent table. The deep-set, cunning eyes saw none of the surrounding magnificence which the walls of his smoking-room displayed; for Mr. Carl Reitberg was deeply immersed, lost in thought, carried away by the brilliance of his inspiration. "Yes," he reflected again, "a brilliant inspiration. Here was I in London--or rather, to put it correctly, here am I in London--hearing on every side tales of the airship, of her strength, of her swiftness, of her original design, capacity, and extraordinary power; and yet there is no way of moving, no means of arresting the world tour of the air vessel, no method of--er--er causing an unfortunate accident Then, when all seems to have gone badly for me, when, owing to my own stupid impulse, my desire to be applauded as a sportsman, the bank holds one hundred thousand pounds which I have deposited, without power of withdrawal, against the day when the ship returns, then, I say, difficulties suddenly fly. It is strange how a man's brain at last hits upon a solution." In his delight he had begun to speak aloud, addressing his words to the four walls of the room, to the costly pictures attached to them, to the velvet curtains, the cigar cabinets, the table loaded with bric-à-brac, and to curios and valuables in general. In any case he had not included the only other occupant of the room, had never once turned his eyes in his direction, had seemed to have forgotten him utterly. But the man there, lounging placidly in a deep and luxurious armchair, smiling sardonically, and nursing a damaged arm which he wore in a sling, was listening intently. Once he scowled and growled something beneath his breath. And now that Carl Reitberg seemed to have finished he stole a look at him, and leaned over and coolly helped himself to a cigar which, by the breadth of the gilded band about it, might have cost a small fortune. "A brilliant inspiration, eh?" he asked languidly, settling himself back in his chair when he had set his cigar going. "What?" The words brought his host back to Mother Earth with a start. To speak the truth there was no love lost between Carl Reitberg and Adolf Fruhmann, for that rascal was the other inmate of this room. The pompous little owner of this magnificent establishment would have ignored his one-time accomplice had he not need of him. Now he put up with his presence as best he could. Not that Adolf Fruhmann was of much value at the moment; for an accident in the streets had left him with a broken arm, much to Carl's annoyance.