“I thought I’d come over instead of wiring or ’phoning.  Our people have not come through yet, have they?”

“Which people, sir?”

“McKay and Miss Erith.”

“No, not yet.”

The officer mused for a moment, then:  “They wired me from Paris yesterday, so they’re all right so far.  You’ll see to it personally that they get through the Swiss wire, won’t you?”

“Through or over, sir.”

The Intelligence Officer displayed his mirthful teeth: 

“Thanks.  I’m also sending three of my own people through the wire.  They’ll have their papers in order—­here are the duplicates I issued; they’ll have their photographs on the originals.”

He fished out a batch of papers and laid them on Recklow’s desk.

“Who are these people?” demanded Recklow.

“Mine, sir.”

“Oh.”

There fell a silence; but Recklow did not examine the papers; he merely pocketed them.

“I think that’s all,” said the Intelligence Officer.  “You know my name—­Captain Herts.  In case you wish to communicate just wire my department at Toul.  They’ll forward anything if I’m away on duty.”

He saluted:  Recklow followed him to the door, saw him mount his motor-cycle—­a battered American machine—­stood there watching until he was out of sight.

Hour after hour that afternoon Recklow sat in his quiet little house in Delle poring over the duplicate papers.

About five o’clock he called up Toul by telephone and got the proper department.

“Yes,” came the answer, “Captain Herts went to you this morning on a confidential matter....  No, we don’t know when he will return to Toul.”

Recklow hung up, walked slowly out into his little garden and, seating himself on a green bench, took out the three packets of duplicate papers left him by Captain Herts.  Then he produced a jeweller’s glass and screwed it into his right eye.

Several days later three people—­two men and a young woman—­arrived at Delle, were conveyed under military escort to the little house of Mr. Recklow, remained closeted with him until verification of their credentials in duplicate had been accomplished, then they took their departure and, that evening, they put up at the Inn.

But by the next morning they had disappeared, presumably over the Swiss wire—­that being their destination as revealed in their papers.  But the English touring-car which brought them still remained in the Inn garage.  Recklow spent hours examining it.

Also the arrival and the departure of these three people was telephoned to Toul by Recklow, but Captain Herts still remained absent from Toul on duty and his department knew nothing about the details of the highly specialised and confidential business of Captain Herts.

So John Recklow went back to his garden and waited, and smoked a short, dirty clay pipe, and played with his family of cats.