"Ach, yes!" agreed the engineer. "Ten years ago war between England and Germany was more improbable than it is to-day, for each day, I fear, brings us nearer to hostilities--which we, in Germany, know to be inevitable." "And when that day dawns we shall have to exert every force, every nerve, every muscle, if we are to repel you," remarked Noel, his clear-cut face unusually dark and serious. "I fear that you will, sir," was the other's quiet response. "Individually we want to be friends mit England, but you, as a British officer, know quite well that one day the powder magazine will explode and there must be der war. It will be forced suddenly and swiftly upon the Kaiser and upon the people." "Yes," sighed the naval airman. "So all we can now do is to remain good friends as long as ever we can--eh? Forewarned is forearmed." "Exactly; but," added the German, "I trust the openness of my remarks has given you no offence, sir. If it has, then I beg you to accept my most sincere apologies. You are an officer and serve your country. I, too, am an officer of reserve and serve mine." "Surely no apologies are needed, my dear Herr Strantz," laughed the lieutenant, extending his hand frankly. "We have both exchanged our opinions. In most I agree with you, although, of course, I naturally believe in England's invincible power on the sea." "That is but natural, my dear lieutenant. You are English," was the engineer's response, and while he turned again to pull over the testing-switch and bent to examine the point of light, Noel was puzzled as to his exact meaning. Presently Noel Barclay, shaking Herr Strantz's hand, humorously expressed a hope that they might never find themselves enemies, and that the cable might be successfully completed and inaugurated on the morrow; strode out into the village street, and down the "Gap" to that wide expanse of golden sands where a big Post Office gang were busily at work covering up the long black cable lying in its trench. The engineer of the General Post Office who was in charge, recognising the airman, wished him good afternoon; but his thoughts were centred upon the mysterious death of the man about whom so many queer rumours had been afloat. Rumours! Ah, how well he recollected one of them--a rumour that had gone around the Service--namely that he had retired with the money earned by selling to a foreign power a certain secret concerning "plotting." For that reason, it was said, he had lived so constantly abroad. Though the offence had never been brought home to him by the Admiralty, yet the rumour had never been contradicted. Mud thrown, alas! always sticks. Was it true, or was it a lie? his friend was wondering, as he stood looking out upon that calm blue summer sea, bathed in the warm light of that August afternoon, the sea in the deep bed of which lay the new link connecting Berlin with London.