He was reading deeply into the less astute mind of the other. He had grasped fully his position. He knew, although he asked, what awaited failure for his old comrade, Von Salzinger. "There will be no failure, I promise you. I have unlimited powers, and I shall use them. Oh, yes, I shall use them." "What powers?" The keen eyes of the spy were watchful. Von Salzinger produced a document from his breast pocket. He opened it. He glanced over it, and passed it across to the other. "My credentials," he said, with triumph in his accompanying glance. Johann Stryj took the document and perused it carefully. He closely examined the signatures. When he looked up it was obvious that he was almost startled. "It has never been done before," he said, almost incredulously. "By this the entire Secret Service is placed at your disposal--absolutely." Von Salzinger nodded. "Now do you understand? Now?" he cried violently. "We believe this Englishman has burrowed out the most stupendous secret of our Government. We believe he has tricked us through this traitor, Hertzwohl. Gott! He has caused me to be--degraded." Stryj passed the violence of his companion by. His mind was searching, searching where the less acute soldier could not follow. "And what of this Hertzwohl? Has he been shot?" "Not yet. We have to prove this thing--first. That is _our_ work." "Ah." Stryj had learned all he wanted to know. At that moment a waiter entered the room bearing a copy of _Who's Who_ for the current year. Von Salzinger seized upon it, and, by the time the man had withdrawn and shut the door, he had found the page he sought. "Ach!" cried Von Salzinger. "Here he is. The luck has served me well. It is as though the plums were ripe, and ready to drop into my mouth." Stryj rose and crossed over to his side. He looked down where the stubby finger of the soldier pointed. "Farlow, Ruxton. Only son of Sir Andrew Farlow, Bart. Member of Parliament for ----. Under Secretary for Foreign Office in 19--. Yes. Partner in firm of Farlow, Son and Farlow, ship-builders and ship-owners. Dorby. Hall Dorby, Yorkshire. Residence, Dorby Towers, Yorkshire. So." Salzinger looked up as he concluded reading out disjointed fragments of the information he sought. "They are ripe--ripe, these plums," he cried exultingly. "Johann, my friend," he went on, glancing up into the spy's clever face, "it is good to see the plums hanging--ripe. We have got to hear all they talk of and contemplate, we have to watch and discover all that is known by Farlow, Son and Farlow. That is your work. You, and those under your control. You will leave for Dorby at once. While I----" "Watch that the birds do not eat the ripe plums you would pick. Dorby. I saw the name in the papers yesterday. Those are the yards some portion of which have been taken over by the British Admiralty. These papers tell me something worth while sometimes."