Sir Henry was standing with his hands in his pockets and a very blank expression upon his face, looking out upon the Admiralty Square. He was alone in a large, barely furnished apartment, the walls of which were so hung with charts that it had almost the appearance of a schoolroom prepared for an advanced geography class. The table from which he had risen was covered with an amazing number of scientific appliances, some samples of rock and sand, two microscopes and several telephones. Sir Henry, having apparently exhausted the possibilities of the outlook, turned somewhat reluctantly away to find himself confronted by an elderly gentleman of cheerful appearance, who at that moment had entered the room. From the fact that he had done so without knocking, it was obvious that he was an intimate. “Well, my gloomy friend,” the newcomer demanded, “what's wrong with you?” Sir Henry was apparently relieved to see his visitor. He pushed a chair towards him and indicated with a gesture of invitation a box of cigars upon his desk. “Your little Laranagas,” he observed. “Try one.” The visitor opened the box, sniffed at its contents, and helped himself. “Now, then, get at it, Henry,” he enjoined. “I've a Board in half-an-hour, and three dispatches to read before I go in. What's your trouble?” “Look here, Rayton,” was the firm reply, “I want to chuck this infernal hole-and-corner business. I tell you I've worked it threadbare at Dreymarsh and it's getting jolly uncomfortable.” The newcomer grinned. “Poor chap!” he observed, watching his cigar smoke curl upwards. “You're in a nasty mess, you know, Henry. Did I tell you that I had a letter from your wife the other day, asking me if I couldn't find you a job?” Sir Henry waited a little grimly, whilst his friend enjoyed the joke. “That's all very well,” he said, “but we are on the point of a separation, or something of the sort. I'll admit it was all right at first to run the thing on the Q.T., but that's pretty well busted up by now. Why, according to your own reports, they know all about me on the other side.” “Not a doubt about it,” the other agreed. “I'm not sure that you haven't got a spy fellow down at Dreymarsh now.” “I'm quite sure of it,” Sir Henry replied grimly. “The brute was lunching with my wife at the Carlton to-day, and, as luck would have it, I was landed with that Russian Admiral's wife and sister-in-law. You're breaking up the happy home, that's what you're doing, Rayton!” His lordship at any rate seemed to find the process amusing. He laughed until the tears stood in his eyes. “I should love to have seen Philippa's face,” he chuckled, “when she walked into the restaurant and saw you there! You're supposed to be off on a fishing expedition, aren't you?” “I went out after whiting,” Sir Henry groaned, “and I'd just promised to chuck it for a time when I got the Admiral's message.” “Well, we'll see to your German spy, anyway,” his visitor promised.