delivered."

An impulse of curiosity struggled through the gloom and apprehension
of Lord Romsey's manner. He gazed at his visitor with knitted brows.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "An Englishman?"

"It is of no consequence," was the colourless reply.

"But it is of consequence," Lord Romsey insisted. "You have dared to
proclaim yourself an ambassador to me from a country with whom
England is at war. Even a discussion between us amounts almost to
treason. On second thoughts I decline to receive you."

He held out his hand towards the electric bell which stood on his
study table. His visitor shook his head.

"I wouldn't adopt that attitude, if I were you," he said calmly.
"You know why. If you are really curious about my nationality, there
is no harm in telling you that I am an American citizen, that I have
held for three years the post of American chaplain at Brussels.
Better let me say what I have come to say."

Lord Romsey hesitated. His natural propensity for temporising
asserted itself and his finger left the bell. The other continued.

"You are in the unfortunate position, Lord Romsey, of having failed
absolutely in your duty towards your own country, and having grossly
and traitorously deceived a personage who has always treated you with
the greatest kindness. I am here to see if it is possible for you to