this
time; the moment has been chosen. And what will England do? Ride safe in
the calm centre of the hurricane? No ship ever did, and England won't.

A few degenerate ones threw up their hands and cried that all was
over--_they knew_.

Of these a gaunt-visaged man, stubborn and stupid and two generations
back a German, held forth in the hall of Hillyard's club.

"German organisation, German thoroughness and German brains--we are no
match for them. The country's thick with spies--wonderful men. Where
shall _we_ find their equals?"

A sailor slipped across the hall and dropped into a chair by Hillyard's
side.

"You take no part in these discussions? The crackling of thorns--what?"

"I have been a long time away."

"Thought so," continued the sailor. "A man was inquiring for you
yesterday--a man of the name of Graham."

Hillyard shook his head.

"I don't know him."

"No, but he is a friend of a friend of yours."

Hillyard sat up in his chair. He had been four days in London, and the
engrossing menace of those days had quite thrust from his recollections
the telegram which had, as he thought, befooled him.

"The friend of mine is possibly Paul Bendish," he said stiffly.

"Think that was the name. Graham's the man I am speaking of," and the
sailor paused. "Commodore Graham," he added.

Hillyard's indignation ebbed away. What if he had not been fooled? The
quenched hopes kindled again in him. There was all this talk of
war--alarums and excursions as the stage-directions had it. Service!
Suddenly he realised that ever since he had left Senga, a vague envy of
Harry Luttrell had been springing up in his heart. The ordered life of
service--authority on the one hand, the due execution of details on the
other! Was it to that glorious end in this crisis that all his life's
experience had slowly been gathering? He looked keenly at his companion.
Was it just by chance that he had crossed the hall in the midst of all
this thistle-down discussion and dropped in the chair by his side?

"But what could I do?"

He spoke aloud, but he was putting the question to himself. The sailor,
however, answered it.

"Ask Graham."

He wrote an address upon a sheet of notepaper and handed it to Hillyard.
Then he looked at the clock which marked ten minutes past three.

"You will find him there now."

The sailor went after his cap and left the club. Hillyard read the
address. It was a number in a little street of the Adelphi, a