He strolled out, following Edestone's course with the air of a man
wishing to enjoy this beautiful spring morning, and approaching the
officer who had interrupted the interview between Edestone and Smith,
he said, with a little twinkle in his eye: "Will you tell me which of
these bridges is called the London Bridge?"

The blue-coated Pat, with Hibernian readiness, caught the humour of
the situation. "Shure, I would gladly, but 'tis a strhanger I am here
mesilf," he grinned as he smothered the entire lower part of his face
with his huge paw of a hand, and significantly closed one eye.

"Pat, your fondness for joking will get you into trouble yet. Did
Smith turn Edestone over to you?"

"He did, and I mesilf took him up to the Admiralty where he is
now. 4782, I think they called him, takes him up from there, and will
keep him until he hears from either you or Smith."

"Where has Smith gone?"

"Shure he's up at Claridge's, bein' shaved by Count von Hottenroth."

"Now, now, Pat, if you don't stop that joking of yours I'll certainly
report you to the Wilhelmstrasse."

"And they said I was to be the first King of dear old Ireland!" as
with a broad grin on his face he raised his hand as if drinking. "Der
Tag!" he cried, thereby causing several passers-by to laugh at the
idea of a London bobby giving the sacred German toast.