talents had become more and more manifest to the half-dozen
people in the world who were really in touch with the truth. One
of these was his present companion, Baron Von Herling, the chief
secretary of the legation, whose huge 100-horse-power Benz car
was blocking the country lane as it waited to waft its owner back
to London.

"So far as I can judge the trend of events, you will probably be
back in Berlin within the week," the secretary was saying. "When
you get there, my dear Von Bork, I think you will be surprised at
the welcome you will receive. I happen to know what is thought
in the highest quarters of your work in this country." He was a
huge man, the secretary, deep, broad, and tall, with a slow,
heavy fashion of speech which had been his main asset in his
political career.

Von Bork laughed.

"They are not very hard to deceive," he remarked. "A more
docile, simple folk could not be imagined."

"I don't know about that," said the other thoughtfully. "They
have strange limits and one must learn to observe them. It is
that surface simplicity of theirs which makes a trap for the
stranger. One's first impression is that they are entirely soft.
Then one comes suddenly upon something very hard, and you know
that you have reached the limit and must adapt yourself to the
fact. They have, for example, their insular conventions which
simply MUST be observed."