ness for
open spaces, and the frequency with which he got into conversation with
strangers. He would wander casually into Kew Gardens, or Waterlow
Park, or in fact anywhere, seat himself somewhere on a bench, and
before he had been there ten minutes, someone would inevitably select
the same bench on which to rest himself or herself, with the result
that they would soon drift into desultory conversation with Mr. Naylor.

The same thing would happen at a restaurant at which Mr. Naylor might
be lunching, dining or taking tea. With strangers his manner seemed
irresistible.

It would sometimes happen that he would keep one of the telephone
appointments, pass through the thoroughfare indicated, and proceed
either to a park or a tea-shop, where later he would find himself in
casual conversation with someone who, curiously enough, had been in
that particular thoroughfare when he passed through it.

For some time Malcolm Sage was greatly puzzled by the fact that even
when the name of a long thoroughfare were indicated in one of the
telephone messages, such as Oxford Street, Marylebone Road, or even the
Fulham Road, Mr. Naylor never experienced any difficulty in locating
the whereabouts of his subordinate. Sage gave instructions for the
exact position of each thoroughfare to be indicated. As a result he
discovered that contact was always established in the neighbourhood of
the building numbered 10.

"It's the German mind," remarked Sage one day to Colonel Walton. "It
leaves nothing to chance, or to the intelligence of the other fellow."

As each one of Mr. Naylor's associates was located, he or she was
continuously shadowed. In consequence the strain upon the resources of
Department Z. became increasingly severe. It was like an army
advancing into an enemy country, and having to furnish the lines of
communication from its striking force. Sometimes Sage himself was
engaged in the shadowing, and once or twice even Colonel Walton.

"By the time we've finished, there won't be even the office cat left,"
Thompson one day remarked to Gladys Norman, a typist whom Malcolm Sage
had picked out of one of the Departments through which he had passed
during his non-stop career. She had already shown marked ability by
her cleverness and resource, to say nothing of her impudence.

"Never mind, Tommy," she had replied. "It's all experience, and after
the war, when I marry you and we start our private inquiry bureau----"
She nodde