Читать книгу The Master Spy - Arthur Gask - Страница 3

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"BUT I tell you, you have been marked down, Herr Mitter," said Dr. Gottlieb sternly, "and that word has reached us from several quarters that you are now under the suspicion of the authorities. I have made this special journey to warn you."

It was toward 9 o'clock upon one stormy summer night, and two men were conversing together in the low, oak-panelled and beautifully furnished room of an old house perched high upon a lonely stretch of cliff upon the coast of Suffolk, between the towns of Aldeburgh and Southwold. Glasses, spirits and a syphon had just been placed before them and the soft-footed butler had glided noiselessly from the room. Had the curtains of the long windows not been closely drawn, under a fitful moon could have been seen the heaving waters of the dark North Sea. The sound of the waves came up faintly into the room.

The speaker stirred uneasily in his chair and went on—"Yes, you have blundered, for at Whitehall, as you have always aspired to be, you are now in the way of being regarded"—there was rising anger in his tone—"as the master spy. Poachim writes us you are under the closest surveillance possible."

The smiling and good looking man he was addressing, seemed amused. "And when I tell you, my dear doctor," he laughed softly, "that that butler who has just left us is in the pay of the British Secret Service and indeed has been so for upwards of six months; that all my letters are opened before I receive them and that as a matter of daily routine my telephone is listened into—you will realise how closely I am beset." He made a grimace. "I regret to mention also that, at the local exchange here at Saxmundham, the two very charming young women, whose special duty it is to attend to all calls made and received at this house, are both of our own nationality, one of them being a graduate of a university and speaking four languages"—he threw out his hands in a gesture of mock despondency—"strangely enough, the only four of which I have myself any knowledge."

The eyes of Dr. Gottlieb burned like coals of fire. "And knowing all this," he gasped, "you are yet continuing to carry on and risking that they may pick up all the threads of our organisation!" He looked furious. "It is ruin. It is a catastrophe. It is almost treachery on your part."

"Treachery!" exclaimed Mitter, his eyes now blazing too. "You apply that word to me!" And then suddenly his features relaxed and his face broke into a pleasant smile. "No, no, Herr Doctor, there is no need for you to distress yourself. I am not quite a fool and I assure you my work in no way suffers because I am being watched." He shook his head emphatically. "They know nothing of our real organisation but are only being spoon-fed with discoveries of no importance to us at all." He looked scornful. "Suspect me, they undoubtedly do, but still they are learning nothing. I do not allow them to, and so confident that every one of my agents is under observation, they are under-estimating my activities in—to them—a most shocking way." He snapped his fingers together. "Why, every day I am driving a coach and four through the cordon they have drawn round me and carrying on as if there were no such organisation as the British Secret Service."

But his companion seemed in no way assured. "And how can you determine the extent of their knowledge?" he asked sharply. "You may be living in a fool's paradise all the time!"

Herr Mitter spoke with the patience of one humoring a little child. "Come, come, Doctor," he said persuasively, "if you are being served well enough to learn from the several sources you say you have, that I am suspected at Whitehall, have you learnt also that any of the special agents I am employing have been given away." His voice took on a sarcastic tone. "To mention only a few, have you learnt for instance that Mendel has been dismissed from Devonport Harbor, that Hern has lost his job at Chatham Dockyard that Krootz is no longer working on their super-submarines, or that Captain the Honorable R. T. J. Nathanial has ceased to be a trusted member of the staff at the Admiralty." He spoke slowly and impressively. "Have you heard now that suspicion has fallen on any of these men? And yet I can furnish the most convincing proof"—his voice was little above a whisper now—"that I am in almost daily communication with each one of them." He leant back easily in his chair. "Come now, be fair and just with me. Have you heard anything about any of these men?"

Dr. Gottlieb hesitated. "No-o," he admitted grudgingly, after a long pause, "we have had no ill news there, as yet."

Herr Mitter laughed gaily. "As yet! And I should think not!" He went on quickly. "And have you ever found that any of the information I have supplied to you was not reliable?" He slapped the table before him with his hand. "Did you not verify what I told you was going to happen, a week before—that the Admiralty had made secret trials of their new bombs upon the battleship Ajax, those hundreds of miles north of the Orkney Isles? Were you not forewarned that Sir Charles Montressor and his chief of staff were meeting the heads of the French army at Nancy at midnight upon the twelfth of last month? Have you not had the complete specifications of their new McHenry Torpedo, a torpedo infinitely superior to any of ours? Did you not learn——"

"Yes, yes, I admit all that," interrupted Dr. Gottlieb testily, "but you may not have been under suspicion then? Those are things of the past."

"Things of the past!" exclaimed Mitter. "The very recent past!" His good humor appeared to return and he became all smiles again. "But I know I have been watched for months and months and it has made no difference, for as I say, I have eluded them in all big matters and in trivial ones only, have allowed them to discover what they could." He nodded. "These petty discoveries of theirs have been my security, because they are thereby quite satisfied they are controlling all the channels of my enquiries."

"But which of the men working for you have they got to know?" asked Dr. Gottlieb with a frown.

Mitter laughed again. "A few who are quite useless to us; Witten who potters round the harbour of Sheerness asking foolish questions of all he meets; Van Rime who takes photographs with a pocket camera at Devonport; Joseph who hangs round the War Office, tapping the private lives of the junior clerks there, and the Scotchman, McBean, who receives £4 a week from me to become very drunk, hobnobbing with sailors in the lowest public houses of Portsmouth." He chuckled in amusement. "And these fellows address letters to me here that are opened before I get them, and copies of which are undoubtedly filed as valuable treasure trove at the counter-espionage headquarters in Whitehall."

"Well, what are your methods then?" asked Dr. Gottlieb after a long pause. "How do you manage to carry on?"

Herr Mitter shook, his head. "No, no, Doctor, as you know, our people have given me a free hand and I prefer to keep my own counsel. I can trust no one with my secrets, not even you"—he smiled ironically—"for with the changing fortunes of all in our beloved country, who knows how long you may hold the position you now do?"

Dr. Gottlieb ignored the last remark. "But it is a great responsibility for one man," he said slowly, "and if you are not equal to the task, I tremble to think what may be the consequences when The Day comes again." He hesitated a moment. "You might, too, take offence for some reason and become lukewarm to the cause." He eyed him intently under heavy brows. "We have no hold upon you, for, as a rich man, money is nothing to you, and I know you are receiving no remuneration for your services."

"No, you have no hold upon me," commented Mitter dryly, "but who should know better than you that none is necessary." He bent forward and lowered his voice to the merest whisper. "You are one of the few who have been told who my father was. Do you forget then that he was shot at the Tower and that his bones lie somewhere in some shameful and unhonored grave?" His voice vibrated passionately. "Am I not myself the son of a spy, and when the report of those rifles rang out in the dawn of that September morning of nineteen fourteen, should not my life have been sealed automatically for vengeance against the country of those who killed him?"

He rose suddenly to his feet with a gesture of impatience. "Add to my hatred of England then, the other obsession of my life—that one great fatherland should fulfill its destiny and become one day the conqueror of the world, and you have no need for any warranty that I shall not be faithful until death." He smiled bitterly. "I do not forget either, that my beloved mother died of her broken heart in a concentration camp in this country, and I have her, too, to avenge."

There was sympathy now in Dr. Gottlieb's expression, and he smiled for the first time. "Good!" he nodded, "then we can trust you, I am sure." He shook his head. "But it was disturbing to receive those reports that you were under such suspicion."

Mitter shrugged his shoulders. "And whose fault was that? Was it not your own man, Lieder, who betrayed us? He was never my choice, but was passed on to me by you, as a trustworthy man. Happily, I took a dislike to him at once and never admitted him to my inner circle."

Dr. Gottlieb nodded again. "Well, he is dead now, and I understand his punishment came quickly."

Mitter spoke sharply. "Yes, he died in this room, and maybe in that very chair in which you are now sitting." He pointed to a cluster of old weapons upon the wall. "I killed him with that stiletto there, stabbing him in the back as I passed behind him to get some cigarettes. No, no," he went on with a smile, as the doctor turned to glance apprehensively round the room, "there were no shadows then to receive his ghost, for he was killed on a bright and sunny afternoon."

"In broad daylight?" gasped Dr. Gottlieb, "and with people about!"

"Certainly," replied Mitter calmly, "for there were even pretty girls playing tennis just outside. I heard the pings of the balls against the racquets as I was choking him so that he should not cry out." His face clouded at the memory. "He arrived at a most inconvenient moment, but I was obliged to seize the opportunity while he was here. I am sure he would never have come again, for I saw from the expression in his eyes that he had suddenly become suspicious of me."

"But his body!" ejaculated Dr. Gottlieb. "How did you get rid of it?"

Mitter pointed to a door leading out of the room they were in. "I hid it there in my bedroom, in a cupboard, and for two nights slept with it only a few yards away from my bed. I could not get rid of it before, because of the moon. Later"—he nodded in the direction of the window and spoke with some feeling—"it was given to those waters that will one day bear our transports when they come to conquer this proud and stubborn people."

"But did no one know the man had not left the house?" asked the doctor. "What were the servants doing?"

"Serving tea upon the lawn," replied Mitter. He laughed lightly. "And Herr Lieder disposed of, I washed my hands and went out to resume my interrupted game with our Chief Constable, Colonel Wedgewood." He looked very pleased with himself. "I was steady as a rock and beat him easily."

A short silence followed, and then Dr. Gottlieb asked thoughtfully, "And does the knowledge of the fact that you are being watched make no difference to the carrying out of the routine of your daily life?"

Mitter shook his head emphatically. "None whatever, and as long as I act as if I had no such knowledge, I feel assured I shall be quite safe. Whitehall is undoubtedly hoping to pick up all the threads of our organisation through me, and in consequence will leave me alone to the very last moment they can." He shrugged his shoulders. "I know I am sitting on a gunpowder mine, but I don't think I shall be here when it explodes." He waved round at the beautiful old oak-panelled walls and sighed heavily. "I could not be in more delightful surroundings, yet 48 hours before our aeroplanes come over to bomb London, I am quite aware I shall have to give them all up. Until then, however," he smiled, "I shall enjoy them with no worry upon my mind."

"But in what way do the people over here regard you," asked Dr. Gottlieb, his smile was very grim—"as an individual of our hated race?"

"Oh! Personally, we are not hated over here in England," replied Mitter quickly. He spoke rather contemptuously. "Britishers have not the temperament for a lasting, virile hate, and although they are nearly all of opinion we are going to drop poison gas upon their civilian population one day, there is no anticipatory resentment about it. No, my social status here could not be better, and I mix with the best county people. I am just regarded as a well-to-do, and perhaps rather eccentric, foreigner, who prefers this country to his own. As you know, painting is supposed to be my great hobby, and I have a beautiful studio here. I am not without some talent either, and there is a sea-scape of mine in the Academy this year." He nodded significantly. "As for my other life and the work I am doing for the fatherland—well, I have resources that no one would suspect."

"Ah! but one slip," commented the doctor gravely, "one little slip, and——"

"There will be no slip, big or little," interrupted Mitter sharply, "and make your mind easy about that." He punctuated each word with his hand. "Remember, nothing is done from this house that in any way touches my real work; no trail of any of my activities can be picked up here, and as Carl Mitter"—he laughed merrily—"I am no master spy." He threw out his hands. "Indeed, I am no spy at all, but just a clumsy bungler who makes happy the British Secret Service, because they discover so easily my little vain attempts to find out what is going on."

"But I wish you would give me some idea of how you carry on," frowned Dr. Gottlieb, "for I could then take back to our people a more reassuring report. I know, of course, that no communications of any important nature are sent to you here, and that you yourself compose the letters we write for you to receive at the house, still——"

"Have patience, Doctor, and tell them at home to have patience, too," interrupted Mitter. "I am doing the work you have entrusted to me, and, with no boasting, am doing it well. So be content with that. I cannot tell you what my ways are, for if my secret were once disclosed to you, you would have to pass it on, and it might get into wrong hands. Remember, if we are spying here, the British, are also spying among you, too, and we never know how highly placed our own traitors are." He shook his head. "No, if I told you everything, my confidence in myself would be gone, and I should no longer feel I was secure." His voice swelled in triumph. "Now, my confidence is absolute, and pursuing the way I am I know I have got the famous British Secret Service tied in a knot they can by no possibility unravel."

A long silence followed, and then, as if resigning himself to the inevitable. Dr. Gottlieb turned his thoughts in another direction, and glancing curiously round the room, apparently took in its beautiful furnishings for the first time. "Yes, you certainly have a nice place here," he remarked, "and that panelling must be very old."

"Two hundred years and more," replied Mitter with the enthusiasm of a connoiseur. "This house was built in the 18th century and there are ruins, just outside, that go back for nearly a thousand years." He rose from his chair and leading the doctor over to one of the windows, pulled aside the curtain. "See, those are the ruins of a Franciscan Priory whose foundations were laid in 1254, when a branch of that great order had its headquarters here." He pointed out to sea. "A score and more of churches, moreover, are supposed to be engulfed there, and upon stormy nights the villagers say they can even hear the clanging of the bells. This little hamlet of Dunwich was a big town once, with a large important harbor, but the sea is for ever encroaching and now a few scattered habitations are all that remain. Within living memory this very house of mine was three hundred yards from the sea, and yet tonight a bare sixty or seventy yards separate it from the waves." He sighed. "If I had any children they would live to see it topple over the cliff."

Then suddenly the sound of a car was heard outside in the drive and a few seconds later the bell of the front door whirred.

Mitter looked frowningly at his watch. "Ten minutes past ten and another visitor!" he exclaimed. "What's happening tonight?"

They heard voices in the hall and then the door of the room opened to admit a smart and very good-looking parlormaid. "A gentleman to see you, sir," she announced, "a Mr. Smith. He says he's very sorry to trouble you so late, but he won't keep you long. I've shown him into the morning room."

"Has he come alone, Margaret?" asked her master quickly.

"Yes, sir, he's driving himself in a limousine."

"All right," nodded Mitter. "I'll go and see him in a minute." Then when the door had shut behind the girl, he turned to Dr. Gottlieb. "Excuse me a minute or two will you. I'll go and see what the man wants."

"But where's that butler of yours?" asked the doctor uneasily.

"Oh! He's always allowed off duty at nine," replied Mitter, "to go for a walk and get some fresh air." He grinned. "But I expect tonight he's writing up a description of you and your car to give to the postman the first thing in the morning." He laughed. "I've got hold of some of his letters and they are very crude and inaccurate stuff, so I expect he'll be describing you as handsome and aristocratic-looking, with a furtive and secretive air."

He left the room still smiling, but once in the hall his expression changed. "Smith, Smith," he muttered. "I don't know him, but, of course, most probably that's not his real name."

He opened the door of the morning room to see the tall and closely muffled figure of a man standing in the middle of the room. The man was wearing his motor-goggles, but directly he saw who had appeared, he pulled them off and began quickly to uncoil the scarfe about his neck.

"The Ambassador!" ejaculated Mitter under his breath, "the haughty Count Von Rieben himself."

"Quick!" whispered the man, beginning to unbutton his overcoat. "Whose car is that outside? Who is your visitor?"

Mitter was all smiles. "It's quite all right, Count," he replied. "He's Herr Gottlieb, who has flown over to have a little talk with me."

"Dr. Gottlieb!" exclaimed Von Rieben frowningly. "What's he come for? Has anything gone wrong?"

"No, nothing," replied Mitter reassuringly. "He's only come to give me some news of which it happens I am already aware; pure routine business and of small interest." He went on quickly. "But you yourself, what has brought you here? It must be something important, of course?"

"Yes," snapped the ambassador, "most important." He hesitated a moment. "But as Gottlieb is here he may as well hear it at the same time. In fact, his being here is quite opportune and may save me a long despatch." He lowered his voice again. "But where's that damned butler of yours? As he didn't open the door to me, it may be just as well he shouldn't see me."

"Oh! Dempster's out, or in bed," replied Mitter airily, "but in any case you shan't meet him. Come into the library where the doctor is," and pausing for a moment to make sure there was no one about, he led the way across the hall.

With every appearance of annoyance, Dr. Gottlieb jumped scowlingly to his feet, as they entered the library, but then recognising who it was who was accompanying Mitter, his expression at once changed.

"His Excellency!" he exclaimed looking very surprised. "But this is a great pleasure!"

Von Rieben advanced and shook hands. "Not so much of a pleasure," he growled, "when you've heard what I've got to say." He peered hard at Gottlieb. "But you've brought no bad news, Herr Mitter tells me?"

The doctor shook his head. "No, our friend assures me that everything is going well and that the little scraps of information I have been able to furnish are no news to him at all."

Von Rieben seated himself at the table and, almost in one gulp, drank off the brandy and soda Mitter had mixed for him. Then he said sharply.

"Well, my news is not good," and his handsome face puckered into a dark frown as he blurted out:—"They've beaten us, these damned Britishers! They've got an invisible aeroplane!"

His listeners made no comment. Dr. Gottlieb regarded him wonderingly and Mitter stood frowning, with his mouth half open.

A deep hush filled the room, and, for a long minute, almost the falling of a feather could have been heard. Then, as if angered by the silence, Von Rieben burst out again. "An invisible aeroplane, I tell you! Don't you take it in?"

Mitter found his voice. "What do you mean?" he asked. "I don't understand you. What do you say they've got?"

Von Rieben laughed bitterly. "An aeroplane that you can't see, man. A plane that's invisible until it drops within 50 yards of you, and one that's almost noiseless as well." He ground his teeth viciously. "It's the greatest invention since aeroplanes came, and will give Britain the whip-hand over everybody else. No nation would dare fight her now."

"An invisible aeroplane!" ejaculated Mitter incredulously. "And you've seen it?"

"Been within 30 yards of it," scowled Von Rieben. "Seen it taxiing along before us like a grey shadow, seen it dart up into the sky and fade away like one, seen an enormous Union Jack trailing round and round a thousand feet up with nothing to show what was dragging it along." He looked contemptuously at Mitter. "You're an efficient director of our secret service, aren't you, to let an invention like this be sprung upon us and not to have had the slightest inkling of what was going on?"

"But how have you come to find out about it?" asked Dr. Gottlieb gruffly. "Let Mitter, here, learn how it is that you are before him."

Von Rieben calmed down. "I was shown it this afternoon," he said with a grim smile, and speaking very slowly so that every word should be taken in, "along with the representatives of nine other embassies, by special courtesy of the British Government. We were all motored separately to the Newmarket racecourse and taken on to the balcony of the Royal Box on the grandstand there. We had not been told what we were going to see, except that it was something that would be of great interest to our respective Governments, and until we began to assemble there it appears each one of us had imagined he was going to be the only favored one." He heaved a deep sigh. "Then this damned aeroplane was brought out and we were struck almost speechless in our astonishment. It was——"

"But why did they show it you?" interrupted Dr. Gottlieb sharply. "What was their idea?"

Von Rieben nodded vehemently. "To convince us of the undesirability of going to war with them, of course; to make us realise that this invention put all other countries at their mercy and that as long as they alone possessed its secret, peace at any price must be the policy of the whole world." He scowled. "Before the damned thing appeared the Prime Minister made a speech to that effect, when he had told us what we were going to see."

"But let us know exactly what happened," said Mitter with some irritation, "and we can judge then what this plane means." He looked towards Dr. Gottlieb. "Don't forget the doctor took his degree in physics and chemistry, and he'll tell at once if there's any practical value in the discovery."

"Oh! I'm not exaggerating," said Von Rieben sharply. "This aeroplane is a stroke of genius and gives Britain the complete mastery of the air. They could drop their bombs anywhere without any interference and everyone would be completely helpless."

He paused a moment. "Well, what exactly happened was this. Last week Lord Rodney himself rang up and asked me to keep this afternoon free, and today after lunch that Colonel Lendon, of the Air Service, called for me in a car and I was driven down to Newmarket. Then, as I say, I was taken up to the Royal box on the grandstand, and within a few minutes, to our mutual astonishment, the representatives of nine of the great Powers found ourselves assembled there. On the lawn in front were nearly all the members of the British Cabinet, along with the chief departmental officers of the army, navy, and air services. As we were ushered into the box we were all handed a pair of powerful Zeiss glasses."

He scowled angrily. "Yes, and all the time with all their extreme politeness, the damned Britishers were grinning as if they were on to some good joke. We could see they could hardly contain themselves in their amusement. Then the Prime Minister made the preliminary remarks I have told you, and pointing to a long wide stretch of scarlet canvas, spread on the racecourse before us and extending for about two hundred yards, looked at his watch and announced that the first plane would arrive in four and a half minutes and land in front of us."

Von Rieben mimicked a deep base voice. "It is now passing over Huntingdon, gentlemen, twenty-five miles away, but as its speed is upwards of three hundred miles an hour, I promise you it will be here to time. It will sound a syren and circle round us before landing."

The Ambassador stopped speaking and it was obvious he was struggling with some emotion. After a few moments, however, he went on:

"Well, there we stood in a strained and uncomfortable silence. I felt suffocating, and suddenly realised that I was holding my breath. We were all affected, and I saw old Ahsberg had bitten his lip until the blood had come. Then far away we heard a syren sounding, and Lord Rodney called out excitedly. 'Up with your glasses, gentlemen; it's coming from over there,' and he pointed across the heath."

Von Rieben cursed deeply. "But we could see nothing except the blue sky and some wisps of cloud that were trailing across. The sound of the syren, however, became louder and louder, and then it seemed to be screeching all round us. Then there was one final tremendous wailing blast, and, my God!"—he spoke with an effort—"down upon the scarlet canvas streaked a long, grey shadow. It stopped in less than a hundred yards, and there before our very eyes was a huge and almost transparent aeroplane. We could just very faintly discern the outline of its fuselage and wings." He struck his fist angrily upon the table. "Then out of it jumped four men. Three of them stood rigidly to the salute, while the fourth played the first bar of the British National Anthem upon a bugle." He sneered "It was intended to be most dramatic."

"But what was the plane made of?" asked Dr. Gottlieb, hoarsely.

Von Rieben shrugged his shoulders. "Heaven knows! Some kind of glasseous substance, of course, but it was more transparent than glass, and even the propellers were made of it. The fittings also were nearly transparent, and Ahsberg, who once ran some armor plate works in Vienna, was of opinion they had been fused on. He said, too, he was sure that the fuselage had not been cast in one piece, but was built of a series of plates fused together, and that he could discern the shadowy lines where they had been joined."

"Did you go close up to it?" asked Mitter.

Von Rieben scoffed. "They didn't give us the chance. We were prisoners in that Royal box, with thirty yards of the Royal enclosure separating us from the racecourse rails."

"But the men!" exclaimed Mitter "You must have seen them through the fuselage before they jumped out! They couldn't have been transparent!"

"Oh! we saw them right enough when the plane was slowing up," replied von Rieben sourly, "but by some means even their forms were partly obscured." He looked scornful again. "But a lot of chance you'd have of picking up grey figures in a machine travelling at 300 miles an hour."

"What type of plane was it?" asked Dr. Gottlieb.

"I don't know. I'm not an expert," snapped von Rieben. "All I could see was that it was a large bomber." He went on—"Then Lord Rodney looked at his watch again and announced that more planes were upon their way, and within five minutes three others had dropped down and taken their places behind the first one. The same shadows, swooping down like ghosts and practically without a sound. We were allowed to stare at them for a little while, then enormous Union Jacks were attached to their under-carriages, the bugle was blown again, and off went the four planes all together. They hardly made any noise, left the ground within 70 or 80 yards, and then we lost sight of everything, except for the trailing flags that seemed to rise almost vertically into the sky. Then for five minutes those flags were whirling about above us—with the dragging planes, however, quite invisible to our glasses—until finally they were dropped exactly in front of us, almost one on top of the others." He shook his head savagely. "The execution of everything was faultless, and I can conceive of a no more masterly exhibition."

"And that finished everything?" asked Mitter.

Von Rieben was stirred instantly to renewed animation. "No, no, our mortification was not over yet. A sheet of the material used was held up close to us. It was about three feet square and certainly not more than half an inch thick. Then it was laid upon the grass just below, and a big burly mechanic struck at it a score of times with a huge sledge hammer. Nothing happened, however, and he might have been striking at a sheet of the strongest steel. Then the glassy sheet was propped up ten yards away, and from a hundred and more cartridges upon a tray any one of us was invited to pick out which ones we liked and fill the magazine of a heavy service rifle that was handed up. Then I emptied the magazine, firing point blank at the damned sheet. Then the sheet was handed up again for our inspection." He gritted his teeth together. "Not a sign of a mark or crack anywhere!"

"Faked cartridges!" suggested Dr Gottlieb with a frown.

"Faked fiddle-di-dee!" scoffed Von Rieben, "for the show was not over yet. A sheet of steel was next passed up to us—we were allowed to handle that and try to scratch it with a file. The sheet was about the same size as the other sheet but so heavy that it took two of us to lift it comfortably, for it was a good inch thick. Then it was propped up where the other sheet had been and Ahsberg choosing the cartridges this time, I emptied the magazine again." He spoke in an awed whisper. "Every bullet drilled a hole through."

A long silence followed and then Dr. Gottlieb asked thoughtfully, "Was the glass-like sheet heavy?"

"No," snarled Von Rieben. "Lord Roding lifted it up and waved it about in one hand."

"But what was it like to look at?" asked Mitter.

"Almost as if he'd got nothing in his hand," replied the ambassador, "glass of very poor quality and very thin." He shook his head angrily. "There's no getting away from the fact that they've got hold of something no one's ever heard of before, a glass as transparent as air and tougher and harder than anything we know."

"And what happened next?" asked Dr. Gottlieb.

Van Rieben laughed mockingly. "Congratulations all round, champagne and sandwiches of caviar, and then good-byes as if we were all the best of friends."

Herr Mitter turned to Dr. Gottlieb. "But in your opinion, Doctor," he asked quietly, "except for what his excellency has just been telling us, as a onetime professor of physics, can you conceive it possible that an almost invisible material of such hardness as that sheet he has described can exist?"

Dr. Gottlieb hesitated. "It is just a matter," he said slowly, "of finding some substance whose refractive index can be made the same as that of air; something that will absorb hardly any light, and refract and reflect very little either." He nodded. "Remember, a sheet of white glass vanishes altogether when it is placed in water." He hesitated again and shook his head. "But, no, I could never quite imagine any hard substance being invisible in air."

"Well, you'll have to imagine it now,"' commented Von Rieben sharply, "for it exists and I have seen it with my own eyes."

"Still, whatever you gentlemen saw today," went on the doctor drily, and as if nettled by the curtness of Von Rieben's tones, "you will have great difficulty in convincing others that such a thing as an invisible aeroplane can really exist. The world will remain sceptical and——"

"Oh! will it?" interrupted Von Rieben unpleasantly. "Then it won't remain for so long, for three weeks today another demonstration will be given, and this time everyone can go who likes. An invitation is being broadcast to all the Governments of the world, inviting them to send their scientific men and the leading representatives of their press. I tell you there is going to be no secrecy as to the discovery, and the widest possible publicity is to be given."

"But where's the next demonstration going to take place?" asked Mitter quickly.

"At Newmarket, where it did today," replied Von Rieben, "and special trains are to be run for all who don't go down in cars." He sneered. "Britain is determined we shall be all shown how helpless we are."

"Well, we shall be helpless only," scowled Dr. Gottlieb, "until we get hold of a piece of the material they use, and then"—he snapped his fingers—"the secret will speedily be no secret at all."

"And how are we going to get hold of a piece?" asked Von Rieben derisively. "They are not going to pass round bits as souvenirs." He turned suddenly and looked with great sternness at Mitter. "But now then, my friend, your department has been costing us a huge sum every year, and so you just tell me straight away where those aeroplanes are being built. Quick now, for you must have——"

"But you can't expect Herr Mitter to learn everything that is going on," broke in Dr. Gottlieb, still in annoyance at the ambassador's truculent tone. "The British can hide a lot of what they're doing in exactly the same way that we can, and——"

"Damnation!" exploded Mitter with great suddenness. "I have it. They're making the stuff on Foulness Island, just off the Essex Coast!" He nodded violently. "Yes, that's it, and for all these months they've been blinding us into believing they were experimenting with explosives there. There have been explosions going on day after day." He smiled triumphantly at Von Rieben. "Yes, your excellency, I can tell you what you want to know. They are assembling these aeroplanes either in Cardiganshire or Caithness, on the prohibited Government areas there, but, as I say, the material they are using is being manufactured upon Foulness Island."

"But how do you know that?" asked Von Rieben, looking very astonished.

"Because of the extraordinary precautions that have been taken for the best part of a year now that no one should approach the island," replied Mitter excitedly. He tugged open a drawer in his desk and producing a large ordnance map spread it out upon the table. "See, this is Foulness Island and it has been one of my special objectives for a long time now, indeed so much so, that I have a man stationed permanently at Burnham-on-Crouch to try to find out what is going on."

He calmed down all at once and continued in quiet and business-like tones. "Now listen to what I can tell you. This Foulness Island had always been a dreadful place to get to because the only approach to it is by a road over the Maplin Sands, only available at low water. The island, as you see, is five miles north-east of Shoeburyness and is cut off from the mainland by the river Roach and a wide deep creek. On the seaside, the tide recedes for more than five miles to the Maplin Light."

"Well, a little less than a year ago, the whole of this island was forcibly acquired by the Government, the land owners being compensated and the entire population turned off. After then no persons, except Government workmen were allowed anywhere near. Deep stretches of barbed wire were thrown all round the island, flanked by embankments about twelve feet high. Then in a few weeks a big factory had sprung up, but in such a position that no one on the mainland can get within two miles of it. Also a huge, and partly underground aerodrome was constructed."

He nodded significantly. "Everything was done at express speed and we reckoned that at one time more than a thousand men were being employed. Every day at low tide there was an almost endless procession of huge lorries along the road over the sands. Then suddenly, with the factory and the aerodrome completed, this road was closed with more barbed wire entanglements, the island was completely isolated, and for many months now there has been no communication except by plane."

"But have they no kind of dock there?" asked Von Rieben.

"No, and not even a landing stage. The seaside of the island is as deeply wired as the land side, and as far as we can make out with the most powerful glasses, there is only one single opening leading on to the sands. I tell you every scrap of material for the factory and every scrap of food for the workmen is now being carried on to the island by planes."

"But don't any of the workmen ever leave the island?" asked Von Rieben.

"Undoubtedly, I should say!" replied Mitter. "But it's all done at night in tremendously fast planes and we have never been able to find out where they land. We wanted, of course, to try to get in touch with one of the men." He turned to Dr. Gottlieb. "But look here, Doctor! Could they make glass out of that sand by the island?"

"Certainly," replied the doctor, "if they got the salt out of it, first."

Mitter threw out his hands. "Well, there you are. They've got the material they want on the very spot."

In low voices they talked on for a long time, with Von Rieben irritable and restless, Dr. Gottlieb very thoughtful and only Mitter, apparently, easy in his mind.

"Well, never mind," said the last, confidently, "it can be only a matter of a little time before we've got hold of a piece of that glass and are making it ourselves." He nodded. "With all the amount of material they must be manufacturing now and with the hourly increasing number of hands it must be passing through, we shall soon find someone to give them away."

"You must find that someone quickly," scowled Von Rieben, "for when we are ready, we can't go on keeping everything up to concert pitch indefinitely." He shook his head angrily. "I had hoped that within twelve months we should have been over here." He turned to Dr. Gottlieb. "Well, it's gone 1 o'clock a long time ago now, and you'd better follow back behind me. We will find out then if anyone is attempting to trail us. We'll go by way of Bishop's Stortford, so that if anyone has been given the office to pick us up as we enter town by the main road, we'll be able to give them the slip."

Ten minutes later and the house was all in darkness save for the one shaded light over Herr Mitter. He was deep in the pages of the London Directory and feverishly jotting down the names of those firms in the city who were makers of plate glass.