"Spies!" said one of the two young fellows, who looked like bursting out of his tight green-grey tunic every time he laughed. "Why should we worry about spies? All the men and women, especially women, who were supposed to be spying for Russia in Germany and Austria were playing a double game. "Russia was persuaded they were spying for her, and they were spying for us instead. A few useless and fantastic reports sent to St. Petersburg were good enough to put them in the confidence of generals and archdukes, and so they could get for us very important secrets. France never had a proper secret service worth talking about, and the few attempts of England in this direction were so clumsily done that it was really pathetic to see how the poor chaps got into trouble for sending home information and plans they could easily have copied from railway maps and tourist books. "We are the only nation on earth who know how to organise a secret service!" "You seem most proud of your spies," I remarked. "Spies is a very ridiculous word; Napoleon used to have spies; we have informants. They mix with all classes of society; they manage to get everywhere, from the Royal Palace to the small country shop, from the barracks canteen to the Premier's house. "Be certain that nine-tenths of those who have been arrested as our emissaries in France, England, and Russia, have nothing to do with it, and that most of the real ones are still doing their job, and doing it jolly well too. "We know everything that happens in England," he continued, after swallowing half his glass of beer. "We know the exact number and destination of the troops sent from Britain to the Continent; we know of everyone who goes in or out of England, and also of his business and of his intentions." "Oh, do you?" I could not help exclaiming, and I nearly burst out laughing. "Yes, we do," he continued with unshakable assurance. "For instance, we know that Lord Kitchener is struggling to raise his Army; that London is in darkness for fear of the Zeppelins; that the King and the Royal Family have left Buckingham Palace for a small private house, afraid of bomb-dropping. "It is really very childish of the British authorities to think that we shall send a lonely airship to drop a few bombs on London. They would not do much harm, and they would produce a panic, with the result that Kitchener would, perhaps, get on better with his recruiting. We know perfectly the Englishmen and their quiet nature. They are still asleep and it would be very foolish of us to wake them up." The night was wonderfully fine; the Tiergarten, which we reached in a few minutes, was full of light, and of couples of lovers.