the room inside. He thought there must be about four or five
people seated round a long table that took up most of the space,
but his attention was caught and held by a tall man with
close-cropped hair and a short, pointed, naval-looking beard, who
sat at the head of the table with papers in front of him. As the
new-comer entered he glanced up, and with a correct, but
curiously precise enunciation, which attracted Tommy's notice, he
asked:

"Your number, comrade?"

"Fourteen, gov'nor," replied the other hoarsely.

"Correct."

The door shut again.

"If that isn't a Hun, I'm a Dutchman!" said Tommy to himself.
"And running the show darned systematically too--as they always
do. Lucky I didn't roll in. I'd have given the wrong number, and
there would have been the deuce to pay. No, this is the place
for me. Hullo, here's another knock."

This visitor proved to be of an entirely different type to the
last. Tommy recognized in him an Irish Sinn Feiner. Certainly
Mr. Brown's organization was a far-reaching concern. The common
criminal, the well-bred Irish gentleman, the pale Russian, and
the efficient German master of the ceremonies! Truly a strange
and sinister gathering! Who was this man who held in his finger
these curiously variegated links of an unknown chain?