"There are ways and means, von Kessler," he interrupted. "These English fondly imagine that, now the war is over, there is no need for our admirable secret service. As you know, that organization still exists most healthily; only, instead of being the Imperial, it is now the German Commercial Secret Service." Herr von Bohme had occasion to be vindictive towards everyone and everything British. A violent Junker, he had supported the ex-Kaiser's war policy with all his might and main, never doubting, until it was too late, of the rapid and triumphant success of the German arms. At the Armistice he had been compelled to surrender eight of his largest merchant vessels to the Allies. That practically smashed up the shipping business of which Herr Bohme was managing director. There remained the Pfieldorf Company, the activities of which bid fair to more than recoup the directors and shareholders for the loss of their mercantile marine. But von Bohme never forgot. Behind his keen business capabilities lurked the spirit of vindictiveness towards the Power that had taken so large a part in the smashing of the German Empire. Without loss of time von Bohme telegraphed to Ludwig Schoeffer, and twenty-four hours later Ludwig presented himself at von Bohme's house in the Platz Alice at Chemnitz. Schoeffer, although only twenty-seven years of age, had had an adventurous career. He was one of the very few German spies in England who had eluded the skilfully drawn toils of Sir Basil Thomson. At the outbreak of hostilities the spy was actually holding a British Admiralty position in Whitehall, and during the next two years he was busily serving two rival Governments at Portsmouth, Chatham, and Rosyth. At the latter place a very simple slip nearly "gave him away", and he quickly transferred his activities to the United States. There he specialized in "deferred action bombs"; ingenious contrivances detonated electrically by means of clockwork. Many a good ship owed her destruction to Ludwig Schoeffer's cunning; and, even after the cessation of hostilities, he remained in New York with the object of wrecking the ex-German vessels surrendered under the terms of the Armistice. But at last the spy was caught through the 'cuteness of a Hoboken policeman. Arrested, he was tried, found guilty, and sent for a life-sentence to Sing Sing. Three weeks later he created a record by breaking out of that grim penitentiary, and succeeded in making his way back to Germany, via San Francisco, Sydney, and Colombo. There was nothing about Ludwig Schoeffer's appearance to betray his nationality. He might, and frequently did, pass for an Englishman, while his command of English defied detection. He was of medium height and build, dark-haired and sallow-featured. There was nothing of Teutonic stolidity about his movements. On the other hand, he walked with the elasticity and easy carriage of an Anglo-Saxon athlete.