ying over Buckingham Palace. And, then
again, it might not.

As every German knows, "The Riddle of the Sands" is a novel written by a
very clever Englishman in which is disclosed a plan for the invasion
of his country. According to this plan an army of infantry was to
be embarked in lighters, towed by shallow-draft, sea-going tugs, and
despatched simultaneously from the seven rivers that form the Frisian
Isles. From there they were to be convoyed by battle-ships two hundred
and forty miles through the North Sea, and thrown upon the coast of
Norfolk somewhere between the Wash and Mundesley. The fact that this
coast is low-lying and bordered by sand flats which at low water are
dry, that England maintains no North Sea squadron, and that her nearest
naval base is at Chatham, seem to point to it as the spot best adapted
for such a raid.

What von Gottlieb thought was evidenced by the fact that as soon as he
read the book he mailed it to the German Ambassador in London, and
under separate cover sent him a letter. In this he said: "I suggest your
Excellency bring this book to the notice of a certain royal personage,
and of the Strategy Board. General Bolivar said, 'When you want arms,
take them from the enemy.' Does not this also follow when you want
ideas?"

What the Strategy Board thought of the plan is a matter of history. This
was in 1910. A year later, during the coronation week, Lester Ford
went to Clarkson's to rent a monk's robe in which to appear at the
Shakespeare Ball, and while the assistant departed in search of the
robe, Ford was left alone in a small room hung with full-length mirrors
and shelves, and packed with the uniforms that Clarkson rents for Covent
Garden balls and amateur theatricals. While waiting, Ford gratified a
long, secretly cherished desire to behold himself as a military man, by
trying on all the uniforms on the lower shelves; and as a result, when
the assistant returned, instead of finding a young American in English
clothes and a high hat, he was confronted by a German officer in a
spiked helmet fighting a duel with himself in the mirror. The
assistant retreated precipitately, and Ford, conscious that he appeared
ridiculous, tried to turn the tables by saying, "Does a German uniform
always affect a Territorial like that?"

The assistant laughed good-naturedly.

"It did give me quite a turn," he said. "It's this talk of invasion, I
fancy. But for a fact, sir, if I was a Coast Guard, and