“The caretaker!” echoed the excited sub-editor bitterly. “And England invaded by the Germans!” He, however, dashed towards the door indicated and rang the bell. At first there was no response. But presently there were sounds of a slow unbolting of the door, which opened at last, revealing a tall, elderly man in slippers, a retired soldier. “I must see somebody at once!” exclaimed the journalist. “Not a moment must be lost. What permanent officials are here?” “There’s nobody ’ere, sir,” responded the man in some surprise at the request. “It’s Sunday morning, you know.” “Sunday! I know that, but I must see someone. Whom can I see?” “Nobody, until to-morrow morning. Come then.” And the old soldier was about to close the door when the journalist prevented him, asking-- “Where’s the clerk-in-residence?” “How should I know? Gone up the river, perhaps. It’s a nice mornin’.” “Well, where does he live?” “Sometimes ’ere--sometimes in ’is chambers in Ebury Street,” and the man mentioned the number. “Better come to-morrow, sir, about eleven. Somebody’ll be sure to see you then.” “To-morrow!” cried the other. “To-morrow! You don’t know what you’re saying, man! To-morrow will be too late. Perhaps it’s too late now. The Germans have landed in England!” “Oh, ’ave they?” exclaimed the caretaker, regarding both men with considerable suspicion. “Our people will be glad to know that, I’m sure--to-morrow.” “But haven’t you got telephones, private telegraphs, or something here, so that I can communicate with the authorities? Can’t you ring up the Secretary of State, the Permanent Secretary, or somebody?” The caretaker hesitated a moment, his incredulous gaze fixed upon the pale, agitated faces of the two men. “Well, just wait a minute, and I’ll see,” he said, disappearing into a long cavernous passage. In a few moments he reappeared with a constable whose duty it was to patrol the building. The officer looked the strangers up and down, and then asked-- “What’s this extraordinary story? Germans landed in England--eh? That’s fresh, certainly!” “Yes. Can’t you hear what the newsboys are crying? Listen!” exclaimed the motorist. “H’m. Well, you’re not the first gentleman who’s been here with a scare, you know. If I were you I’d wait till to-morrow,” and he glanced significantly at the caretaker. “I won’t wait till to-morrow!” cried Fergusson. “The country is in peril, and you refuse to assist me on your own responsibility--you understand?” “All right, my dear sir,” replied the officer, leisurely hooking his thumbs in his belt. “You’d better drive home, and call again in the morning.” “So this is the way the safety of the country is neglected!” cried the motorist bitterly, turning away. “Everyone away, and this great place, built merely to gull the public, I suppose, empty and its machinery useless. What will England say when she learns the truth?”