“No one would doubt it,” John Hebblethwaite grumbled, “except those particular fools we have to deal with.  I suppose they didn’t see it in the same light.”

“They did not,” Norgate admitted.

“We’ve a tough proposition to tackle,” Hebblethwaite confessed cheerfully, “but I am with you, Norgate, and to my mind one of the pleasures of being possessed of a certain amount of power is to help one’s friends when you believe in the justice of their cause.  If you leave things with me, I’ll tackle them to-morrow morning.”

“That’s awfully good of you, Hebblethwaite,” Norgate declared gratefully, “and just what I expected.  We’ll leave that matter altogether just now, if we may.  My own little grievance is there, and I wanted to explain exactly how it came about.  Apart from that altogether, there is something far more important which I have to say to you.”

Hebblethwaite knitted his brows.  He was clearly puzzled.

“Still personal, eh?” he enquired.

Norgate shook his head.

“It is something of vastly more importance,” he said, “than any question affecting my welfare.  I am almost afraid to begin for fear I shall miss any chance, for fear I may not seem convincing enough.”

“We’ll have the champagne opened at once, then,” Mr. Hebblethwaite declared.  “Perhaps that will loosen your tongue.  I can see that this is going to be a busy meal.  Charles, if that bottle of Pommery 1904 is iced just to the degree I like it, let it be served, if you please, in the large sized glasses.  Now, Norgate.”

“What I am going to relate to you,” Norgate began, leaning across the table and speaking very earnestly, “is a little incident which happened to me on my way back from Berlin.  I had as a fellow passenger a person whom I am convinced is high up in the German Secret Service Intelligence Department.”

“All that!” Mr. Hebblethwaite murmured.  “Go ahead, Norgate.  I like the commencement of your story.  I almost feel that I am moving through the pages of a diplomatic romance.  All that I am praying is that your fellow passenger was a foreign lady—­a princess, if possible—­with wonderful eyes, fascinating manners, and of a generous disposition.”

“Then I am afraid you will be disappointed,” Norgate continued drily.  “The personage in question was a man whose name was Selingman.  He told me that he was a manufacturer of crockery and that he came often to England to see his customers.  He called himself a peace-loving German, and he professed the utmost good-will towards our country and our national policy.  At the commencement of our conversation, I managed to impress him with the idea that I spoke no German.  At one of the stations on the line he was joined by a Belgian, his agent, as he told me, in Brussels for the sale of his crockery.  I overheard this agent, whose name was Meyer, recount to his principal his recent operations.  He offered him an exact plan of the forts of Liege.  I heard him instructed to procure a list of the wealthy inhabitants of Ghent and the rateable value of the city, and I heard him commissioned to purchase land in the neighbourhood of Antwerp for a secret purpose.”