"Ye keb's out 'ere, sir," he said. "This way, sir," and as the stranger
made no move to follow him, he leaned forward and lifted the latter's top
coat from his arm. "Let me carry this 'ere for you, gov'ner," then in a
whisper that none could overhear, he said in German: "For your life,
follow me."

"Go on," directed the stranger in English, pausing to adjust his cravat,
and made his leisurely way after the hurrying porter. The latter stopped
finally by the side of a somewhat battered-looking limousine.

"'Ere ye are, sir," announced the porter, not waiting for the
chauffeur to pull open the door. "I most amissed ye," he rattled on.
"Kotched the keb, sir, an' tucked yer boxes inside, then I looked for
ye at the bookin' office, 'cording to directions. Let me tuck this
'ere laprobe over ye."

As the stranger stepped into the limousine and seated himself the porter
clambered in after him.

"They're on," he whispered, his freckles showing plainly against his
white face. "The chauffeur is one of us, he'll take you straight to our
landing. This packet's for you. Good luck!" And pocketing the sovereign
offered, the porter, voicing loud thanks, backed from the limousine and
slammed the door shut.

The outskirts of London were reached before the man in the limousine
opened the slip of paper thrust into his hand by the porter. It was
wrapped about a small electric torch and a book of cigarette papers.
Slowly he read the German script in the note.