“Then I understand, Captain Clancey,” said the Assistant Commissioner, “that this lady has got clear off?” Clancey smiled serenely. “Oh, rather! Address: Hôtel des Indes, The Hague--quite a comfortable place and quite an important German espionage centre.” “I gather that our man was too late.” “By some hours, I should say,” Clancey replied. “You see, we only got the report in from France quite late. I sent your man to watch her while I went to see Froelich. I was sure he was all right, but I wanted to satisfy myself. By the time I reached our place I found the chief in the deuce of a stew. Your man had got back, and reported that she’d gone. They’d kicked up the devil’s delight at Headquarters, and the chief was out for blood. He was determined to arrest somebody, and I suggested Ramsey, but he got purple in the face and told me he’d instructed your people to bag Froelich. I thought this quite idiotic, but it relieved the chief’s feelings, and it was too late to do anything sensible. We knew the ship she took; of course, she was much too clever to sail under the English flag. Naturally we wirelessed, but they won’t dare touch her. After that last row it’s hands off these Dutchmen.” “And the view of your department, Captain Clancey, is that it’s useless for us to detain Mr. Froelich?” “Absolutely useless. I can swear to it. As I told you, I don’t know him well, but I know all about him, and I am satisfied of his complete innocence, and that he is entirely unaware of Madame de Corantin’s objects and activities.” “Then what do you propose that we should do, Captain Clancey?” “I propose nothing at all, Mr. Crane.” “What, after her getting those passports?” Clancey twisted his moustache. “That’s a matter which concerns spheres altogether over my head, Mr. Crane.” “But Mr. Ramsey says that it’s entirely owing to Mr. Froelich’s introduction that he provided the lady with passports, that he’d known her through him, and having been a friend of Mr. Froelich for many years, he had implicitly trusted him. He was here only a few minutes before you came, and he told me that there was no doubt at all but that he had been the victim of a conspiracy between Froelich and this Madame de Corantin. He admitted that he ought to have been on his guard, considering that Mr. Froelich’s name was German, and of course it was natural that he would have German sympathies.” “Um! And what do you think, Mr. Crane?” The Assistant Commissioner was silent for a moment. “You see, I don’t know Mr. Froelich,” he said. “But you do know Mr. Ramsey,” replied Clancey. “Not well.” “What about his chief? You know him well enough. Why not ask him?” The Assistant Commissioner’s answer was to throw a note across the table to his questioner. It ran as follows-- WAR OFFICE. DEAR MR. CRANE,--