to the smoking-room of the Keppel's
Head Hotel, Portsmouth, with a copy of the last edition of the _Southern
Evening News_ in his hand, and said to Captain Erskine:

"It's all right, my boy. It's war, and you've got the _Ithuriel_. Your
own ship, too. Designer, creator, captain; and I'm your First Luff."

"I think that's about good enough for a bottle of the best, Castellan,"
said Erskine, in the quiet tone in which the officer of the finest
Service in the world always speaks. "Touch the button, will you?"

As Denis Castellan put his finger on the button of the electric bell, a
man got up from an armchair on the opposite side of the room, and said,
as he came towards the table at which Erskine was sitting:

"You will pardon me, I hope, if I introduce myself without the usual
formalities. My name is Gilbert Lennard."

"Then, I take it, you're the man who swam that race with my brother
John, in Clifden Bay, when Miss Parmenter was thrown out of her skiff.
But he's no brother of mine now. He's sold himself to the Germans, and,"
he continued, suddenly lowering his voice almost to a whisper, "come up
to my room, we'll have the bottle there, and Mr Lennard will join us.
Yes, waiter, you can take it up to No. 24, we can't talk here," he went
on in a louder tone. "There's a German spy in the room, and by the piper
that was supposed to play before Moses, if he's here when I come back,
I'll throw him out."

Everyone in the smoking-room looked up. Castellan walked out, looking at
a fair-haired, clean-shaven little man, sitting at a table in the
right-hand corner of the room from the door. He also looked up, and
glanced vacantly about the room; then as the three went out, he took a
sip of the whisky and soda beside him, and looked back on to the paper
that he was reading.

"Who's that chap?" asked Erskine, as they went upstairs.

"I'll tell you when we're a bit more to ourselves," replied Castellan;
and when they had got into his sitting-room, and the waiter had brought
the wine, he locked the door, and said:

"That is Staff-Captain Count Karl von Eckstein, of the German Imperial
Navy, and also of His Majesty, the Kaiser's, Secret Service. He knows a
little more than we do about every dockyard and fort on the South Coast,
to say nothing of the ships. That's his district, and thanks to the most
obliging kindness of the British authorities he has made very good use
of it."

"But, surely," exclaimed Lennard, "now that there