night-club, knock-about-town, devil-may-care young fellow. And
all the time this quiet country house of yours is the centre of
half the mischief in England, and the sporting squire the most
astute secret-service man in Europe. Genius, my dear Von Bork--
genius!"

"You flatter me, Baron. But certainly I may claim my four years
in this country have not been unproductive. I've never shown you
my little store. Would you mind stepping in for a moment?"

The door of the study opened straight on to the terrace. Von
Bork pushed it back, and, leading the way, he clicked the switch
of the electric light. He then closed the door behind the bulky
form which followed him and carefully adjusted the heavy curtain
over the latticed window. Only when all these precautions had
been taken and tested did he turn his sunburned aquiline face to
his guest.

"Some of my papers have gone," said he. "When my wife and the
household left yesterday for Flushing they took the less
important with them. I must, of course, claim the protection of
the embassy for the others."

"Your name has already been files as one of the personal suite.
There will be no difficulties for you or your baggage. Of
course, it is just possible that we may not have to go. England
may leave France to her fate. We are sure that there is no
binding treaty between them."

"And Belgium?"