at last!"

The door was opened by the floor waiter, who held it while a thin,
dark man, dressed in civilian clothes of most correct cut, passed in.
Hobson gripped him at once by the hand.

"Chief Downs," he said, "this is my friend Mr. Crawshay, who is
connected with the English Embassy over here. You can shake hands with
him later. We're on a job of business, and the first thing before us
is to get an answer from you to a certain question. Did you send this
dispatch or did you not?"

Hobson handed over to the newcomer the crumpled telegraph form which
he had just produced from his pocket. The latter glanced through it
and shook his head.

"It's a plant," he announced. "I'm sorry if the use of my name has
misled you in any way, but it was quite unauthorised. I know nothing
whatever about the matter."

Hobson remained for a moment silent, silent with sick and angry
astonishment. Crawshay had glanced towards the clock and was standing
now with his finger upon the bell.

"Is it a big thing?" the Chicago man enquired.

"It's the biggest thing ever known in this country," Hobson groaned.
"It's what is known as the Number Three Berlin plant."

"You didn't get the stuff at Halifax, then?" Downs asked.