efly. "You have arranged a conference with
him?"

"I will do so. There is plenty of time."

"Why do we go to America?"

"It is a whim of his--that this great treaty should be signed there. We
had to humour him, or he might have grown suspicious. I think he is a
little mad."

Again there was a moment's silence. Then the older man threw away his
cigarette and rose.

"The wireless man is an old protege of mine," he said. "I spent a very
pleasant hour with him last night. If you do not object, I will go in
again to see him."

The other nodded, and Pachmann opened the door of the wireless-house and
disappeared inside. His companion lighted another cigarette and smoked
it gloomily, as his thoughts reverted to his own affairs. It was
flattering, of course, that he should have been selected to accompany
Pachmann on this mission; but, nevertheless, he regretted Berlin--or,
rather, he regretted a certain blue-eyed, flaxen-haired girl, with a
figure like Juno's.... Confound it! It was only to separate him from her
that he had been sent with Pachmann! Why couldn't his father leave him
alone! He was old enough to manage his own affairs! And besides....

The door of the wireless-house opened and Pachmann appeared. Very
quietly he closed the door, very quietly he sat down beside his
companion. And then he mopped a shining forehead with a hand that
trembled visibly, and the younger man saw with astonishment that his
face was livid.

"What is it? What has happened?" he asked.

Pachmann tried twice before he found his voice. When he did speak, it
was in a hoarse whisper.

"I was wrong," he said. "France _does_ suspect!"

CHAPTER XIV

THE MESSAGE

A little group of laughing young women came scurrying up the ladder from
the promenade, and the Admiral and his companion sat stonily silent
until they had passed. Then the Admiral spoke again, still in a whisper,
but his voice was under control.

"The most astounding thing has happened," he said. "I cannot understand
it. The operator in there has just received a message from Cherbourg,
asking if there is not on board, in stateroom 514, a man named Ignace
Vard, accompanied by his daughter. It is signed by Lepine, chief of the
French secret service."

The younger man drew a quick, sibilant breath, and his face, too, turned
pale beneath the tan.

"But how could he know?" he gasped. "How could he suspect?"

"Lepine is the very devil!" growled the other. "Perhaps it w