“I was always convinced of it,” Norgate replied calmly.  “I also had the honour of deceiving you in the matter of Mr. Bullen.  I have been the means, owing to your kind and thoughtful information, of having the fleet mobilised and ready to strike at the present moment, and there are various little pieces of property I know about, Mr. Selingman, around London, where we have taken the liberty of blowing up your foundations.  There may be a little disappointment for you, too, in the matter of Italy.  The money you were good enough to pay me for my doubtful services, has gone towards the establishment of a Red Cross hospital.  As for you, Selingman, I denounce you now as one of those who worked in this country for her ill, one of those pests of the world, working always in the background, dishonourably and selfishly, against the country whose hospitality you have abused.  If I have met you on your own ground, well, I am proud of it.  You are a German spy, Selingman.”

Selingman’s hand fumbled in his pocket.  Scarcely a soul was surprised when Norgate gripped him by the wrist, and they saw the little shining revolver fall down towards the fender.

“You shall suffer for these words,” Selingman thundered.  “You young fool, you shall bite the dust, you and hundreds of thousands of your cowardly fellows, when the German flag flies from Buckingham Palace.”

Norgate held up his hand and turned towards the door.  Two men in plain clothes entered.

“That may be a sight,” Norgate said calmly, “which you, at any rate, will not be permitted to see.  I have had some trouble in arranging for your arrest, as we are not yet under martial law, but I think you will find your way to the Tower of London before long, and I hope it will be with your back to the light and a dozen rifles pointing to your heart.”

A third man had come into the room.  He tapped Selingman on the shoulder and whispered in his ear.

“I demand to see your warrant!” the latter exclaimed.

The officer produced it.  Selingman threw it on the floor and spat upon it.  He looked around the room, in the further corner of which two men and a woman were standing upon chairs to look over the heads of the little crowd.

“Take me where you will,” he snarled.  “You are a rotten, treacherous, cowardly race, you English, and I hate you all.  You can kill me first, if you will, but in two months’ time you shall learn what it is like to wait hand and foot upon your conquerors.”

He strode out of the room, a guard on either side of him and the door closed.  One woman had fainted.  Mrs. Paston Benedek was swaying back and forth upon the cushioned fender, sobbing hysterically.  Norgate stood by her side.

“I have forgotten the names,” he announced pointedly, “of many of that fellow’s dupes.  I am content to forget them.  I am off now,” he went on, his tone becoming a little kinder.  “I am telling you the truth.  It’s war.  You men had better look up any of the forces that suit you and get to work.  We shall all be needed.  There is work, too, for the women, any quantity of it.  My wife will be leaving again for France next week with the first Red Cross Ambulance Corps.  I dare say she will be glad to hear from any one who wants to help.”