his orders, would refuse passage to the silver star of Section Seven. It
need only be used, too, as a last resource, for I had my papers as a
neutral. Could I but once set foot in Germany, I was quite ready to
depend on my wits to see me through. One advantage, I knew, I must
forgo. That was the half-letter in its canvas case.

If that document was of importance to Section Seven of the German
Police, then it was of equal, nay, of greater importance to my country.
If I went, that should remain behind in safe keeping. On that I was
determined.

"Never before, since the war began," I told myself, "can any Englishman
have had such an opportunity vouchsafed to him for getting easily and
safely into that jealously guarded land as you have now! You have plenty
of money, what with your own and this ..." and I fingered Semlin's wad
of notes, "and provided you can keep your head sufficiently to remember
always that you are a German, once over the frontier you should be able
to give the Huns the slip and try and follow up the trail of poor
Francis.

"And maybe," I argued further (so easily is one's better judgment
defeated when one is young and set on a thing), "maybe in German
surroundings, you may get some sense into that mysterious jingle you got
from Dicky Allerton as the sole existing clue to the disappearance of
Francis."

Nevertheless, I wavered. The risks were awful. I had to get out of that
evil hotel in the guise of Dr. Semlin, with, as the sole safeguard
against exposure, should I fall in with the dead man's employers or
friends, that slight and possibly imaginative resemblance between him