"As evidence of the healthy industrial tone which prevails in Germany and the rapidity with which the Government is recovering from the effects of the war, I may instance the fact that an order has been placed with the Leipzieger Spoorwagen Gesselshaft for 60,000 box cars. The order has been placed by the L.S.G. with thirty firms, and the first delivery is due in six weeks." "That's exciting," said Kitson, "but why cut it out?" The next cutting was also dated "Berlin" and announced the revival of the "War Purchase Council" of the old belligerent days as "a temporary measure." "It is not intended," said the dispatch, "to invest the committee with all its old functions, and the step has been taken in view of the bad potato crop to organize distribution." "What's the joke about that?" asked Kitson, now puzzled. "The joke is that there is no potato shortage--there never was such a good harvest," said Beale. "I keep tag of these things and I know. The _Western Mail_ had an article from its Berlin correspondent last week saying that potatoes were so plentiful that they were a drug on the market." "H'm!" "Did you read about the Zeppelin sheds?" asked Beale. "You will find it amongst the others. All the old Zepp. hangars throughout Germany are to be put in a state of repair and turned into skating-rinks for the physical development of young Germany. Wonderful concrete floors are to be laid down, all the dilapidations are to be made good, and the bands will play daily, wet or fine." "What does it all mean?" asked the bewildered lawyer. "That The Day--the real Day is near at hand," said Beale soberly. "War?" "Against the world, but without the flash of a bayonet or the boom of a cannon. A war fought by men sitting in their little offices and pulling the strings that will choke you and me, Mr. Kitson. To-night I am going after van Heerden. I may catch him and yet fail to arrest his evil work--that's a funny word, 'evil,' for everyday people to use, but there's no other like it. To-morrow, whether I catch him or not, I will tell you the story of the plot I accidentally discovered. The British Government thinks that I have got on the track of a big thing--so does Washington, and I'm having all the help I want." "It's a queer world," said Kitson. "It may be queerer," responded Beale, then boldly: "How is my wife?" "Your--well, I like your nerve!" gasped Kitson. "I thought you preferred it that way--how is Miss Cresswell?" "The nurse says she is doing famously. She is sleeping now; but she woke up for food and is nearly normal. She did not ask for you," he added pointedly. Beale flushed and laughed. "My last attempt to be merry," he said. "I suppose that to-morrow she will be well." "But not receiving visitors," Kitson was careful to warn him. "You will keep your mind off Oliva and keep your eye fixed on van Heerden if you are wise. No man can serve two masters."