Captain Griffiths was out of his depths. He was not a coward, but he had no hankering after death, and there was death in Lessingham's threat and in the flash of his eyes. While he hesitated, there was a knock upon the door. Mills came silently in. He carried a telegram upon a salver. “For you, sir,” he announced, addressing Captain Griffiths. “An orderly has just brought it down.” Griffiths looked at the pink envelope and frowned. He tore it open, however, without a word. As he read, his long, upper teeth closed in upon his lip. So he stood there until two little drops of blood appeared. Then he turned to Mills. “There is no answer,” he said. The man bowed and left the room. He walked slowly and he looked back from the doorway. It was scarcely possible for even so perfectly trained a servant to escape from the atmosphere of tragedy. “Something tells me,” Lessingham remarked coolly, as soon as the door was closed, “that that message concerns me.” The Commandant made no immediate reply. He straightened out the telegram and read it once more under the lamplight, as though to be sure there was no possible mistake. Then he folded it up and placed it in his waistcoat pocket. “The notion of your arrest, sir,” he said to Lessingham harshly, “is apparently distasteful to some one at headquarters who has not digested my information. I am withdrawing my men for the present.” “You're not going to arrest him?” Philippa cried. “I am not,” Captain Griffiths answered. “But,” he added, turning to Lessingham, “this is only a respite. I have more evidence behind all that I have offered. You are Baron Bertram Maderstrom, a German spy, living here in a prohibited area under a false name. That I know, and that I shall prove to those who have interfered with me in the execution of my duty. This is not the end.” He left the room without even a word or a salute to Philippa. Lessingham looked after him for a moment, thoughtfully. Then he shrugged his shoulders. “I am quite sure that I do not like Captain Griffiths,” he declared. “There is no breeding about the fellow.” CHAPTER XXIV Philippa, even for some moments after the departure of Captain Griffiths and his myrmidons, remained in a sort of nerveless trance. The crisis, with its bewildering denouement, had affected her curiously. Lessingham rose presently to his feet. “I wonder,” he asked, “if I could have a whisky and soda?” She stamped her foot at him in a little fit of hysterical passion. “You're not natural!” she cried. “Whisky and soda!” “Well, I don't know,” he protested mildly, helping himself from the table in the background. “I rather thought I was being particularly British. When in doubt, take a drink. That is Richard all the world over, you know.” She broke into a little mirthless laugh. “I shall begin to think that you are a poseur!” she exclaimed. He crossed the room towards her.