, there, give your orders, and we will go to lunch, and then about
four o'clock we may make our call in Candler's Court."

While the two Chiefs of the International were talking, Phadrig was
reading a cypher telegram, of which the meaning was this:

"REVAL.--Professor fell overboard three days ago. Body not
recovered. Horus Stone did its work. N. consents. I marry her at
Oscarburg. Russia ready. Fool International for a few days and come
to Viborg when you have done with them.
O."

"That is good news," said Phadrig, in a confidential whisper to himself;
"for a man on the lower plane of existence the Prince is wonderfully
clever. This is a master-stroke. If he really has the Queen in his power
all the rest will be easy."

"There's two gentlemen to see you, Mr Amena." The door opened, and his
landlady's dirty little daughter put her towsled head through the little
space behind the doorpost. "They're down below; shall I send 'em up?"

"Certainly, Jane. Tell the gentlemen that I shall be pleased to see
them."

The dirty face vanished as the door closed. Phadrig shut down the top of
the big escritoire and locked it. Heavy treads sounded on the rickety
stairs. There was a shuffle of feet on the little landing, a sharp knock
at the door, and he said in a low tone:

"Come in, gentlemen. I have been expecting you."

The door opened and Nicol Hendry entered, followed by his German
colleague. Practised as they were in all the arts of their profession,
they looked about the mean, miserably appointed room with curious eyes.
Phadrig, dressed in the same shabby semi-Oriental costume in which he
had received Isaac Josephus, salaamed, and said:

"Gentlemen, although this is but a poor room to receive you in, I am
pleased that you have come. You are officers of the International, if I
am not mistaken."

Then his speech changed to German, and he went on:

"You, sir, are M. Nicol Hendry, and your friend is the Herr von Hamner,
Chief of the Berlin Section. What can I do to serve you?"

It was anything but the greeting that they expected. They thought that
they had tracked the real criminal to his last hiding-place. They had
established the identity between Phadrig, the poor seller of curios, and
Phadrig Amena, the worker of miracles, whom all the smart set in London
was talking about; and here he was in this miserable, shabby room,
dressed i