less,
he rose respectfully to his feet and himself placed a chair by the side
of his desk.

"My dear Count!" he exclaimed. "I am very glad to see you, but this is an
unusual visit. I would have met you somewhere, or come to the Embassy.
Have we not agreed that it was well for Herr Selingman, the crockery
manufacturer--"

"That is all very well, Selingman," the Count interrupted, "but this
morning I have had a shock. It was necessary for me to talk with you at
once. In Bond Street I met the Baroness von Haase. For twenty-four hours
London has been ransacked in vain for her. This you may not know, but I
will now tell you. She has been our trusted agent, the trusted agent of
the Emperor, in many recent instances. She has carried secrets in her
brain, messages to different countries. There is little that she does not
know. The last twenty-four hours, as I say, I have sought for her. The
Emperor requires her presence in Vienna. I meet her in Bond Street this
morning and she introduces to me her husband, an English husband, Mr.
Francis Norgate!"

He drew back a little, with outstretched hands. Selingman's face,
however, remained expressionless.

"Married already!" he commented. "Well, that is rather a surprise."

"A surprise? To be frank, it terrifies me!" the Count cried. "Heaven
knows what that woman could tell an Englishman, if she chose! And her
manner--I did not like it. The only reassuring thing about it was that
she told me that her husband was one of your men."

"Quite true," Selingman assented. "He is. It is only recently that he
came to us, but I do not mind telling you that during the last few weeks
no one has done such good work. He is the very man we needed."

"You have trusted him?"

"I trust or I do not trust," Selingman replied. "That you know. I have
employed this young man in very useful work. I cannot blindfold him.
He knows."

"Then I fear treachery," the Count declared.

"Have you any reason for saying that?" Selingman asked.

The Count lit a cigarette with trembling fingers.

"Listen," he said, "always, my friend, you undervalue a little the
English race. You undervalue their intelligence, their patriotism, their
poise towards the serious matters of life. I know nothing of Mr. Francis
Norgate save what I saw this morning. He is one of that type of
Englishmen, clean-bred, well-born, full of reserve, taciturn, yet, I
would swear, honourable. I know the type, and I do not believe in such a
m