“I’ll let you into a secret,” answered Bulkinghorn; “he _was_. But he isn’t now! No, no, I can’t say anything more. You must work it out for yourself. But I will give you a piece of advice. The less you say about Mr. William Schulz and about your private affairs generally when you are on the other side, the better it will be for you! Good-night—and good luck!” Euan MacTavish escorted Mary to Almond’s Hotel. “I’m very much afraid,” he said to her as they walked along, “that you’re butting that pretty head of yours into a wasps’ nest, Mary!” “Nonsense!” retorted the girl decisively; “I can take care of myself!” “If I consent to let you go off like this,” said Euan, “it is only on one condition ... you must tell Lady Margaret where you are going ...” “That’ll spoil everything,” answered Mary, pouting; “Mother will want to come with me!” “No, she won’t,” urged her cousin, “not if I tell her. She’ll worry herself to death, Mary, if she doesn’t know what has become of you. You’d better let me ring her up from the club and tell her you’re running over to Rotterdam for a few days. Look here, I’ll tell her you’re going with me. She’ll be perfectly happy if she thinks I’m to be with you ...” On that Mary surrendered. “Have it your own way,” she said. “I’ll pick you up here at a quarter-past nine in the morning,” said Euan as he bade the girl good-night at her hotel, “then we’ll run down to the F.O. and collect my bags and go on to the station!” “Euan,” the girl asked as she gave him her hand, “who is this man Schulz, do you think?” The King’s messenger leant over and whispered: “Secret Service!” “Secret Service!” The girl repeated the words in a hushed voice. “Then Mr. Dulkinghorn ... is he ... that too?” Euan nodded shortly. “One of their leadin’ lights!” he answered. “But, Euan,”—the girl was very serious now,—“what has the Secret Service to do with Hartley Parrish’s clients in Holland?” The King’s messenger laid a lean finger along his nose. “Ah!” he said, “what? That’s what is beginning to interest me!” CHAPTER XXI. A WORD WITH MR. JEEKES Life is like a kaleidoscope, that ingenious toy which was the delight of the Victorian nursery. Like the glass fragments in its slide, different in colour and shape, men’s lives lie about without seeming connection; then Fate gives the instrument a shake, and behold! the fragments slide into position and form an intricate mosaic....