Edestone will probably lunch quietly alone somewhere, as I know that
all of his friends are at the front, but don't lose him until you turn
him over to Mr. Rebener tonight at 8 o'clock." His eyes narrowed as
they followed the skulking figure of the architect out of the room.

"That fellow needs watching," he muttered to Rebener. "He has lost his
nerve. He is not a true German anyhow. But if he makes a false step,
4782 knows what to do and you can depend upon him to do it. We do not
know who he is, but he is a gentleman, if not a nobleman, and he will
kill or die for his Emperor."

Smith, in the meantime, had gone down the service stairs and out at
the rear of the hotel. He was thoughtful, and when he was settled in
his taxi, after having directed the chauffeur where to drive, he said
to himself:

"They are going to kill him tonight unless they get that machine, or
else can fix it so that Rockstone doesn't get it tomorrow, that is if
Underhill hasn't got it already. I wish I'd never started this
business; I never thought it would go so far, and what do I get out of
it? A German decoration which I can't wear in America, and God knows I
don't want to live in Germany, and seventeen dollars a week. I'm not
going to stand for it, and that's settled."

Arriving in front of a little restaurant he entered and sat down at a
table near a window looking out on Whitehall Place. The proprietor,
who was another German, came over to him, and while ostensibly
arranging the cloth spoke to him in an undertone in his own language.

"Edestone is still with Underhill," he said. "The taxi driver on the