with a little snap.

"You needn't play at being headquarters, Ambrose," he said hoarsely.
"I know it seems like a miracle but there's a reason for that."

"What is it?" Ambrose asked.

"Only a few weeks after the war began," Thomson continued
thoughtfully, "two French generals, four or five colonels, and over
twenty junior and non-commissioned officers were court-martialled for
espionage. The French have been on the lookout for that sort of
thing. We haven't. There isn't one of these men who are sitting in
judgment upon us to-day, Ambrose, who would listen to me for a single
moment if I were to take the bull by the horns and say that the
traitor we seek is one of ourselves."

"You're right," Ambrose murmured, "but do you believe it?"

"I do," Thomson asserted. "It isn't only the fact of the attacks
themselves miscarrying, but it's the knowledge on the other side of
exactly how best to meet that attack. It's the exact knowledge they
have as to our dispositions, our most secret and sudden change of
tactics. We've suffered enough, Ambrose, in this country from civil
spies--the Government are to blame for that. But there are plenty of
people who go blustering about, declaring that two of our Cabinet
Ministers ought to be hung, who'd turn round and give you the life if
you hinted for a moment that the same sort of thing in a far worse
degree was going on amongst men who are wearing the King's uniform."

"It's ugly," Ambrose muttered, "damned ugly!"