"Germany! I can say no more," added Cyril in a stage whisper. "Ah! The wretches!" cried the nurse. "One never knows what they will be at next. Of course I will help you. I ought to have known at once that it was sure to be all right. Any one can see that you are a gentleman--a soldier, I dare say?" "Never mind who or what I am. It is better that you should be able truthfully to plead your complete ignorance. Now as to the uniform; have you one to spare?" "Yes, indeed. I will go and get it immediately." "All this mystery frightens me," exclaimed Priscilla as soon as they were alone. "You must be brave. Now listen attentively to what I am saying. On leaving here----" "Oh, aren't you going with me?" she asked. "No, we must not be seen together, but I will join you later." "You will not leave me alone again?" "Not for long." "Promise." "I promise." "Very well, now tell me what I am to do." "On leaving this house you are to turn to your right and walk down the street till you see a taxi with a box on it. A friend of mine, Guy Campbell, will be inside. You can easily recognise him; he has red hair. Campbell will drive you to a hotel where a lady is waiting for you and where you are to stay till I can join you. If there should be any hitch in these arrangements, go to this address and send a telegram to me at the club. I have written all this down," he said, handing her a folded paper. The nurse returned with her arms full of clothes. "Have you a thick veil?" asked Cyril. "There is a long one attached to the bonnet, but we never pull it over our faces, and I am afraid if Mrs. Thompkins did so, it would attract attention." "Yet something must be done to conceal her face." The nurse thought for a moment. "Leave that to me, sir. I used to help in private theatricals once upon a time." "That is splendid! I will go downstairs now and wait till you have got Mrs. Thompkins ready." "Give me a quarter of an hour and you will be astonished at the result." She seemed to have thrown her whole heart into the business. When Cyril returned, he found Priscilla really transformed. Her yellow curls had been plastered down on either side of her forehead. A pair of tinted spectacles dimmed the brilliancy of her eyes and her dark, finely-arched eyebrows had been rendered almost imperceptible by a skilful application of grease and powder. With a burnt match the nurse had drawn a few faint lines in the girlish face, so that she looked at least ten years older, and all this artifice was made to appear natural by means of a dingy, black net veil. A nurse's costume completed the disguise. "You have done winders, nurse. I can't thank you enough," he exclaimed. "Don't I look a fright?" cried Priscilla a little ruefully. "No, you don't. That is just where the art comes in. You are not noticeable one way or the other. It is admirable. And now you had better be going." The nurse peered into the hall.