any clever schemes. Its motto was "The Day" when it could
make a really historical haul.

The progress of Malcolm Sage had been remarkable. Colonel Walton had
quickly seen that his subordinate could work only along his own lines,
and in consequence he had given him his head. Sage, on his part, had
discovered in his chief a man with a sound knowledge of human nature,
generously spiced with the devil.

As Sage entered, Colonel Walton ceased his diagrams and looked up.
Sage was as unlike the "sleuth hound" of fiction as it is possible for
a man to be. At first glance he looked like the superintendent of a
provincial Sunday-school. He was about thirty-five years of age,
sandy, wore gold-rimmed glasses and possessed a conical head,
prematurely bald. He had a sharp nose, steel-coloured eyes and large
ears; but there was the set of his jaw which told of determination.

Seating himself in his customary place, Sage proceeded to pull at the
inevitable briar, without which he was seldom seen. For a full minute
there was silence. Colonel Walton deliberately lighted a cigar and
leaned back to listen. He knew his man and refrained from asking
questions.

"They're puzzled, chief"--Sage knocked the ashes from his pipe into the
ash-tray on the table--"and they're getting jumpy," he added.

Colonel Walton nodded.

"Twice they've ransacked John Dene's room at the Ritzton and found
nothing."

"Does he know?" enquired Colonel Walton.

Sage nodded.

"John Dene's a dark horse," he remarked with respect in his voice, "and
the Huns can't make up their minds."

"To what?" enquired the chief.

"To give up the shadow for the substance," he remarked, as he pressed
down the tobacco in his pipe. "They want the plans, and they want to
prevent the boat from putting to sea."

Colonel Walton nodded comprehendingly.

"They'll probably try to scotch her on the way over; but they won't
know her route. They'll be lying in wait, however, in full strength in
home waters. He's a bad psychologist," added Sage, as he knocked the
ashes out of his pipe.

"Who?" enquired Colonel Walton.

"The Hun," replied Sage, as he sucked away contentedly at his pipe.
"He's never content to go for a single issue, or he'd probably have got
the Channel ports. He's not content with concentrating on John Dene
and his boat, he's after the plans. That's where he'll fail. Smart
chap, John Dene."

For some moments the two men smoked in silence, which