‘But if you can’t, who can?’

‘I suppose nobody.’

He looked at her with curious cold rage. He was used to her. She was as it were embedded in his will. How dared she now go back on him, and destroy the fabric of his daily existence? How dared she try to cause this derangement of his personality?

‘And for WHAT do you want to go back on everything?’ he insisted.

‘Love!’ she said. It was best to be hackneyed.

‘Love of Duncan Forbes? But you didn’t think that worth having, when you met me. Do you mean to say you now love him better than anything else in life?’

‘One changes,’ she said.

‘Possibly! Possibly you may have whims. But you still have to convince me of the importance of the change. I merely don’t believe in your love of Duncan Forbes.’

‘But why SHOULD you believe in it? You have only to divorce me, not to believe in my feelings.’

‘And why should I divorce you?’

‘Because I don’t want to live here any more. And you really don’t want me.’

‘Pardon me! I don’t change. For my part, since you are my wife, I should prefer that you should stay under my roof in dignity and quiet. Leaving Leaving aside personal feelings, and I assure you, on my part it is leaving aside a great deal, it is bitter as death to me to have this order of life broken up, here in Wragby, and the decent round of daily life smashed, just for some whim of yours.’

After a time of silence she said:

‘I can’t help it. I’ve got to go. I expect I shall have a child.’

He too was silent for a time.

‘And is it for the child’s sake you must go?’ he asked at length.

She nodded.

‘And why? Is Duncan Forbes so keen on his spawn?’

‘Surely keener than you would be,’ she said.

‘But really? I want my wife, and I see no reason for letting her go. If she likes to bear a child under my roof, she is welcome, and the child is welcome: provided that the decency and order of life is preserved. Do you mean to tell me that Duncan Forbes has a greater hold over you? I don’t believe it.’

There was a pause.

‘But don’t you see,’ said Connie. ‘I MUST go away from you, and I must live with the man I love.’

‘No, I don’t see it! I don’t give tuppence for your love, nor for the man you love. I don’t believe in that sort of cant.’

‘But you see, I do.’

‘Do you? My dear Madam, you are too intelligent, I assure you, to believe in your own love for Duncan Forbes. Believe me, even now you really care more for me. So why should I give in to such nonsense!’

She felt he was right there. And she felt she could keep silent no longer.

‘Because it isn’t Duncan that I DO love,’ she said, looking up at him.

‘We only said it was Duncan, to spare your feelings.’

‘To spare my feelings?’

“She must think of her future.”

“Ah, that is another matter. I fancy that in the future we have our own very definite plans about England, and that your information will be very vital to us. It is to-day or to-morrow with Mr. John Bull. If he prefers to-day we are perfectly ready. If it is to-morrow we shall be more ready still. I should think they would be wiser to fight with allies than without them, but that is their own affair. This week is their week of destiny. But you were speaking of your papers.” He sat in the armchair with the light shining upon his broad bald head, while he puffed sedately at his cigar.

The large oak-panelled, book-lined room had a curtain hung in the further corner. When this was drawn it disclosed a large, brass-bound safe. Von Bork detached a small key from his watch chain, and after some considerable manipulation of the lock he swung open the heavy door.

“Look!” said he, standing clear, with a wave of his hand.

The light shone vividly into the opened safe, and the secretary of the embassy gazed with an absorbed interest at the rows of stuffed pigeon-holes with which it was furnished. Each pigeonhole had its label, and his eyes as he glanced along them read a long series of such titles as “Fords”, “Harbour defences", “Aeroplanes", “Ireland”, “Egypt", “Portsmouth forts", “The Channel", “Rosythe", and a score of others. Each compartment was bristling with papers and plans.

“Colossal!” said the secretary. Putting down his cigar he softly clapped his fat hands.

“And all in four years, Baron. Not such a bad show for the hard-drinking, hard-riding country squire. But the gem of my collection is coming and there is the setting all ready for it.” He pointed to a space over which “Naval Signals” was printed.

“But you have a good dossier there already.”

“Out of date and waste paper. The Admiralty in some way got the alarm and every code has been changed. It was a blow, Baron — the worst setback in my whole campaign. But thanks to my check-book and the good Altamont all will be well to-night.”

The Baron looked at his watch and gave a guttural exclamation of disappointment.

“Well, I really can wait no longer. You can imagine that things are moving at present in Carlton Terrace and that we have all to be at our posts. I had hoped to be able to bring news of your great coup. Did Altamont name no hour?”

Von Bork pushed over a telegram.

Will come without fail to-night and bring new sparking plugs.

ALTAMONT.

“Sparking plugs, eh?”

“You see he poses as a motor expert and I keep a full garage. In our code everything likely to come up is named after some spare part. If he talks of a radiator it is a battleship, of an oil pump a cruiser, and so on. Sparking plugs are naval signals.”

“From Portsmouth at midday,” said the secretary, examining the superscription. “By the way, what do you give him?”