alplaquet
was speaking. Her remarks were effective and very much to the
point. She upbraided Mortimer with his long and mysterious
absences which she attributed to his infatuation for Nur-el-Din
and complained bitterly of the dancer's imprudence in consorting
openly with notorious folk like Lazarro and Bryan Mowbury.

"I went to the girl myself," she said, "and begged her to be more
circumspect. But Madame would not listen to advice; Madame was
doubtless sure of her position with our revered leader, and
thought she could reject the friendly counsel of one old enough
to be her mother. Behrend and Max and No. 13 there--all of
us--are absolutely agreed that we are not going on with this sort
of thing any longer. If you are to remain in charge of our
organization, Mr. Mortimer, we want to know where you are to be
found and how you spend your time. In short, we want to be sure
that you are not playing a game that most of us have at different
times played on subordinate agents... I mean, that when the
crisis comes, we fall into the trap and you walk away. You had
better realize once and for all that we are too old hands for
that sort of trick."

Here Max took up the thread. "Mrs. Malplaquet had put it very
strite, so she 'ad, and wot he wanted to know was what Mortimer
'ad to siy?"

Mortimer was very suave in his reply; a bad sign, thought
Desmond, for it indicated that he was not sure of himself. He was
rather vague, spoke about a vitally important mission that he had
had to fulfil but which he had now brought to a successful
conclusion, so that he was at length free to devote his whole
attention once more to the great task in hand.

Behrend brought his fist crashing down on the arm of the settee.

"Words, words," he cried, "it won't do for me. Isn't there a man
in the room besides me? You, Bellward, or you, Max, or you,
No.13? Haven't you got any guts any of You? Are you going to sit
here and listen to the soft soap of a fellow who has probably
sent better men than himself to their death with tripe of this
kind? It may do for you, but by the Lord, it won't do for me!"

Mortimer cleared his throat uneasily.

"Our host is silent," said Mrs. Malplaquet, "what does Mr.
Bellward think about it?"

Desmond spoke up promptly.

"I think it would be very interesting to hear something further
about this mission of Mortimer's," he observed:

Mortimer cast him a glance of bitter malice.

"Well," he said, after a pause,