"I've just taken dinner," Mr. Coulson said. "Coffee and cognac'll
do me all right."

"And a Martini cocktail for me," the young man ordered. "I am
dining down in the restaurant with some friends later on. Come
over to this corner, Mr. Coulson. Why, you're looking first-rate.
Great boat, the Lusitania, isn't she? What sort of a trip did you
have?"

So they talked till the drinks had been brought and paid for,
till another little party had quitted the room and they sat in
their lonely corner, secure from observation or from any
possibility of eavesdropping. Then Mr. Richard Vanderpole leaned
forward in his chair and dropped his voice.

"Coulson," he said, "the chief is anxious. We don't understand
this affair. Do you know anything?"

"Not a d----d thing!" Coulson answered.

"Were you shadowed on the boat?" the young man asked.

"Not to my knowledge," Coulson answered. "Fynes was in his
stateroom six hours before we started. I can't make head nor tail
of it."

"He had the papers, of course?"

"Sewn in the lining of his coat," Coulson muttered. "You read