rning, but on entering the club we
were approached by a fair-headed, rather smart-looking German waiter.
His age was about thirty, his fair moustache well trained, and his hair
closely cropped.

I made inquiry for an imaginary person, and by that means was enabled to
engage the man in conversation. Ray, on his part, remarked that he would
be staying in the neighbourhood for some time, and requested a list of
members and terms of membership. In response, the waiter fetched him a
book of rules, which he placed in his pocket.

"Well?" I asked, as we descended the hill.

"To me," my friend remarked, "there is only one suspicious fact about
that man--his nationality."

The afternoon we spent out at the naval offices, where I was introduced
to the Superintendent and the second officer, and where I stood by while
my friend again examined the big green-painted safe, closely
investigating its lock with the aid of his magnifying glass. It was
apparent that those in charge regarded him as a harmless crank, for so
confident were they that no spy had been able to get at the plans that
no night watch had ever been kept upon the place.

Through five consecutive nights, unknown to the caretaker, who slept so
peacefully in his bungalow, we, however, kept a vigilant watch upon the
place. But in vain. Whatever information our friends the Germans wanted
they seemed to have already obtained.

Ray Raymond, however, continued to display that quiet, methodical
patience born of enthusiasm.

"I'm confident that something is afoot, and that there are spies in the
neighbourhood," he would say.

Nearly a fortnight we spent, sometimes in Edinburgh, and at others
idling about North Queensferry in the guise of English tourists, for the
Forth Bridge is still an attraction to the sightseer.

Upon the German waiter at the Golf Club Ray was keeping a watchful eye.
He had discovered his name to be Heinrich Klauber, and that before his
engagement there he had been a waiter in the basement cafe of the Hotel
de l'Europe, in Leicester Square, London.

His movements were in no way suspicious. He lived at a small cottage
nearly opposite the post office at North Queensferry with a widow named
Macdonald, and he had fallen in love with a rather pretty dark-eyed girl
named Elsie Robinson, who lived with her father in the grey High Street
of Inverkeithing. As far as my observations went--and it often fell to
my lot to watch his movements while Ray was abs