For a time scientific zeal consumed the
secretary, and the question of the plans remained in suspense. He even
went into speculation about the previous occupants of the balloon. "I
suppose," he said, "the laty WAS the laty. Bot that is not our affair.

"It is fery curious and amusing, yes: but I am afraid the Prince may be
annoyt. He acted wiz his usual decision--always he acts wiz wonterful
decision. Like Napoleon. Directly he was tolt of your descent into the
camp at Dornhof, he said, 'Pring him!--pring him! It is my schtar!' His
schtar of Destiny! You see? He will be dthwarted. He directed you to
come as Herr Pooterage, and you haf not done so. You haf triet, of
course; but it has peen a poor try. His chugments of men are fery just
and right, and it is better for men to act up to them--gompletely.
Especially now. Particularly now."

He resumed that attitude of his, with his underlip pinched between his
forefingers. He spoke almost confidentially. "It will be awkward. I
triet to suggest some doubt, but I was over-ruled. The Prince does
not listen. He is impatient in the high air. Perhaps he will think his
schtar has been making a fool of him. Perhaps he will think _I_ haf been
making a fool of him."

He wrinkled his forehead, and drew in the corners of his mouth.

"I got the plans," said Bert.

"Yes. There is that! Yes. But you see the Prince was interested in
Herr Pooterage because of his romantic seit. Herr Pooterage was so much
more--ah!--in the picture. I am afraid you are not equal to controlling
the flying machine department of our aerial park as he wished you to do.
He hadt promised himself that....

"And der was also the prestige--the worldt prestige of Pooterage with
us.... Well, we must see what we can do." He held out his hand. "Gif me
the plans."

A terrible chill ran through the being of Mr. Smallways. To this day he
is not clear in his mind whether he wept or no, but certainly there
was weeping in his voice. "'Ere, I say!" he protested. "Ain't I to
'ave--nothin' for 'em?"

The secretary regarded him with benevolent eyes. "You do not deserve
anyzing!" he said.

"I might 'ave tore 'em up."

"Zey are not yours!"

"They weren't Butteridge's!"

"No need to pay anyzing."

Bert's being seemed to tighten towards desperate deeds. "Gaw!" he said,
clutching his coat, "AIN'T there?"

"Pe galm," said the secretary. "Listen! You shall haf five hundert
poundts. You shall haf it on my promise. I will