he most vulnerable spot in England, and
the first objective of the Kaiser's army? Every soldier and sailor in
Germany dreams of 'the Day'--the day when he will set foot upon this
shore. For some years past our Intelligence Department has known of the
German plans for our invasion. There are several, but in each one a
dash, and a surprise landing along this coast of Norfolk and of Suffolk
and Essex is the first step. Knowledge of this prompted Lord Roberts to
resign his seat on the National Defence Committee and make those
stirring speeches pointing out our country's peril."

"And what thanks did the country give him?" I interrupted. "People only
laugh at him for his trouble!"

"Yes," said my friend bitterly, "the public are ignorant, therefore they
do not heed. They talk glibly about the strength of our navy, forgetful
that the German diplomacy is the cleverest and most cunning in the
world. When 'the Day' dawns there will be no suspicion of war, and
certainly no declaration of hostilities. Before we have realised that
war is in the air, the enemy will have their feet firmly planted upon
British soil."

"And if the enemy intend landing along this shore, it is certain that
spies are active here, gathering all information likely to be of service
to the invader."

"That's exactly why I've come here, my dear Jack," my friend said. "We
know that our eastern counties have been divided into districts by the
Germans, and in each one or more secret agents are busily at work taking
notes of food supplies, forage, blacksmiths' shops, motor-cars for
transport, the destruction of telegraphs and telephones, positions for
artillery, and the best mode of advance south to London. One may rest
assured that the ordnance map is being very much amplified just now."

That evening we spent idly in the hotel, and next day, hiring a
motor-car, we drove through Runton to Sheringham and over the hills
three miles further towards the back-door of England--the place
neglected by those responsible for our defences, and by the public
alike--Weybourne.

The road from Sheringham ran down a steep hill, called the Fox Hill, to
the little village that lay cosily at some distance from the sea.
Passing the church we turned sharply to the right, and in a few minutes
found ourselves against a large front with a wide open beach beyond.

Having alighted, we walked along beside the surf for some distance, out
of hearing of our chauffeur, when my friend e