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girl,—“you did well.”
    The compliment did not receive the response that might have been expected. Speaking with a crispness that she had not used before, the young German Secret Service agent said, with a certain authority:
    â€œHadn’t you better get on with the job?”
    â€œ Himmel! ” declared the Prussian officer. “Where’s the hurry? This hotel is safe and the English swine-dog will be unconscious until the morning. I can guarantee that.” He turned up Clinton’s eyelids and motioned the others closer. “Look, he’s practically dead.”
    â€œHerr Lieutenant—” observed Pierre.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œMay this drug not act variously on different subjects?”
    â€œYes, but there is no chance of this one recovering. There was too much put in his wine. You did it very cleverly, Marie. But we will hurry, all the same. Get his other keys.”
    â€œYou heard what he told me?” remarked the girl.
    â€œI heard every word,” said von Ritter sharply. “He has brought over something colossal—something of the first importance. When we send von Jago what is in that dispatch-case he will laugh for a week.”
    â€œI hope it is good,” said the girl. “To have to listen to his maudlin love-making.…” She made a gesture of contempt before facing von Ritter resolutely. “I shall want something to compensate for being pawed about by this English swine”—grimacing again.
    Her superior took the words seriously.
    â€œYou make the sacrifice in the sacred cause of the Fatherland,” he returned, with heavy gravity. “If this coup turns out as I think, news of it will reach the ears of His Imperial Majesty.” Like a clockwork figure, he automatically stiffened and saluted. “And you know how generously the All Highest can reward merit.”
    In the meantime, the man Pierre had been going through Clinton’s pockets.
    â€œHere are the keys,” he announced, handing them to the officer.
    At the third attempt the dispatch-case clicked open. The man in the chair moved as though unexpectedly recovering consciousness.
    â€œHe’s waking,” snapped the girl.
    â€œWaking?” Von Ritter crossed and looked down at the unconscious Englishman. “No, he’s not waking—it’s just a dream—perhaps of Hampstead!”—accompanying the words with a sarcastic laugh. “But all the same,”—turning away,—“we had better not lose any more time.”
    Examining closely the papers which he had taken from the case, he heard a voice over his right shoulder exclaim in annoyance:
    â€œBut they’re in code!”
    â€œWhat did you expect?” he retorted angrily. “Even the English are not quite such fools as to have important secrets written in block capitals!”
    â€œThen—?”
    For answer, von Ritter took a small red-covered book from his pocket.
    â€œHere, I think, I shall find the key,” he observed with a satisfied smile.
    There was a long pause while he studied the book.
    â€œCan you read it?” asked the girl impatiently.
    â€œI hope so.…No, not that one,” he muttered to himself, and then turned the pages hurriedly.
    Pierre started to become agitated. Although his behaviour remained unnoticed by von Ritter, his irritability got on the girl’s nerves.
    â€œControl yourself,” she said sharply; and then, to the officer: “Haven’t you got it yet?”
    â€œWait,” he told her, turning another page. “No—not yet.” More pages were turned. “It’s not that, either.…The code must have been altered.”
    â€œAltered?” The girl’s hands were clenched, while the blood mounted to her cheeks.
    Von Ritter disregarded her.
    â€œHave you searched him as I ordered?” he said to Pierre.
    â€œYes, Herr Lieutenant.”
    Abstractedly, von