resulted in their utter destruction. I may be wrong, but I am happy in
retaining my faith."

"What became of Hagan?" I asked, for I wished to bring the narrative
to a clean artistic finish.

"I am not sure," answered Cary, "though I gave evidence as ordered by
the court-martial. But I rather think that I have here Hagan's
epitaph." He took out his pocket-book, and drew forth a slip of paper
upon which was gummed a brief newspaper cutting. This he handed to me,
and I read as follows:

"The War Office announces that a prisoner who was charged
with espionage and recently tried by court-martial at the
Westminster Guildhall was found guilty and sentenced to
death. The sentence was duly confirmed and carried out
yesterday morning."

* * * * *

Two months passed. Summer, what little there was of it, had gone, and
my spirits were oppressed by the wet and fog and dirt of November in
the North. I desired neither to write nor to read. My one overpowering
longing was to go to sleep until the war was over and then to awake in
a new world in which a decent civilised life would once more be
possible.

In this unhappy mood I was seated before my study fire when a servant
brought me a card. "A gentleman," said she, "wishes to see you. I said
that you were engaged, but he insisted. He's a terrible man, sir."