"I am not so sure about that," remarked the Foreign Secretary meditatively, bending forward and pressing the button of an electric bell fixed on the table in front of him. "At all events, for a time your movements must be hampered, for I see here, amongst the documents that have just been sent down from Downing Street to me for signature, is a copy of a warrant for your arrest from the Home Office on a charge of bribery of certain officials now employed at Woolwich Arsenal. My idea is that it ought to be put into effect at once." "Oh, but that is preposterous!" snorted the hunchback, going very white. "I shall resist it. I shall appeal to the Spanish Ambassador. I will let the public know how I've been tricked here in Shrewsbury whilst I was engaged on one of the most peaceable of missions--the financing and development of a new flying machine." "Quite so; I should," said the Foreign Secretary, writing busily, as though he were utterly indifferent to what the hunchback said, did, or thought. "Our dear British public loves revelations of all sorts--the more sensational the better. I only hope the press won't praise me for the part I have taken in the business and call me one of the nation's patriots for setting the nation's needs above the ordinary rules of criminal procedure. You really can have no idea of how keen they have become on stringing up traitors of all nationalities since some of our grim experiences in the South African War." "I'm not a traitor," thundered the hunchback. "No?" said Lord Cuthbertson, all the inquiry in his assent. "I am a Spaniard." "Quite so." And again there was silence, during which the hunchback shuffled uneasily, for, although he was brave enough in conflict, silence tried him, like it does all highly-strung men. Another footstep made itself heard, and through the keyhole Casteno and I caught sight of the burly proportions of Detective-Inspector Naylor standing in front of the Foreign Secretary, his hand raised at the salute. "What orders, my lord," he asked. "Oh!" replied the Foreign Secretary carelessly, still going on with his correspondence, "I think you will find a man there at the end of the table standing quite close to you. His name is Peter Zanch or Zouch, or something foreign and uncanny like that. The Home Office has issued a warrant for his arrest on some serious charges. Put a pair of handcuffs on him and take him up to Bow Street, will you? Be very careful, too, how you search him. He has got three old, valuable manuscripts somewhere--either in his pockets, amongst his luggage at the Green Dragon Hotel, or hidden in the rooms in which he is in temporary occupation. Arrange for a careful search for those before you leave Shropshire."