oment that will keep. What presses
is that you should squeeze old Faulks. There is something that I must
know to-day, or to-morrow at latest. You must go and see him at once."

"At his office?"

"Why not?"

"But on what pretence? I have never been there as yet. He has always
come here to lunch or dine. He is fond of a good dinner."

"Ask him again."

"But I could do that by letter. He may suspect me if I go to him
without some plausible excuse."

"Trump up some story about his nephew. Only get to him; he will soon
give you an opening you can turn to account. I trust to your
cleverness for that; only lose no time."

"Must I go to-day?"

"This very afternoon; directly you leave the house."

CHAPTER IV.

IN WHITEHALL.

The Military Munitions' department was one of a dozen or more seated
at that period in and about Whitehall. Its ostensible functions, as
its title implied, were to supply warlike and other stores to the
British army when actively engaged. But as wars had been rare for
nearly half-a-century it had done more during that time towards
providing a number of worthy gentlemen with comfortable incomes than
in ministering to the wants of troops in the field.

It was an office of good traditions: highly respectable, very
old-fashioned, slow moving, not to say dilatory, but tenacious of its
dignity as regards other departments, and obstinately wedded to its
own way of conducting the business of the country.

The most prominent personage in the department for some little time
before the outbreak of hostilities with Russia, and during the war,
was Mr. Rufus Faulks, brother to the Captain Faulks we met on board
the _Burlington Castle_, and also uncle to Stanislas McKay.

Mr. Faulks had entered the office as a lad, and, after long years of
patient service, had worked his way up through all the grades to the
very top of the permanent staff. He had no one over him now but the
statesman who, for the time being, was responsible for the department
in Parliament--a mere politician, perfectly raw in official routine,
who had the good taste and better sense to surrender himself blindly
to the guidance of Mr. Faulks. What could a bird of passage know of
the deep mysteries of procedure it took a life-time to learn?

He was the true type and pattern of a Government official. A prim,
plethoric, middle-aged little man; always dressed very carefully;
walking on the tips of his toes; speaking precisely, with a