paragraph in it which he read aloud.

"Hanged if I understand things over here, nowadays, Reggie!" he
declared, laying the paper down. "Here's another Englishman
imprisoned in Germany--this time at a place no one ever heard of
before. I won't try to pronounce it. What does it all mean? It's
all very well to shrug your shoulders, but when there are eighteen
arrests within one week on a charge of espionage, there must be
something up."

For the first time Reginald Kinsley seemed inclined to discuss the
subject seriously. He drew the paper towards him and read the
little paragraph, word by word. Then he gave some further order to
an attentive maitre d'hotel and glanced around to be sure that they
were not overheard.

"Look here, Dick, old chap," he said, "you are just back from abroad
and you are not quite in the hang of things yet. Let me ask you a
plain question. What do you think of us all?"

"Think of you?" Hamel repeated, a little doubtfully. "Do you mean
personally?"

"Take it any way you like," Kinsley replied. "Look at me. Nine
years ago we played cricket in the same eleven. I don't look much
like cricket now, do I?"

Hamel looked at his companion thoughtfully. For a man who was
doubtless still young, Kinsley had certainly an aged appearance.
The hair about his temples was grey; there were lines about his