 17 After hours and hours of dreary, flat country, darkness closed down, and Miss Pym was dozing when she suddenly awakened to find it was Berlin at last. Slowly the train steamed into the Great Station, even at that late hour thronged with people, because trains now were very few and far between. People therefore waited in crowds, submissive as cattle. All the railway officials and porters, Miss Pym noticed, were women disguised as men. It now seemed advisable to become invisible. There were many spies stalking about the station, those ridiculous Prussian spies, recognisable as such, all over Berlin. Miss Pym was glad to be free. It seemed delightful to move about and to go where she pleased. She crossed the Spree, a slow-flowing dull stream, spanned by ugly bridges, and soon found herself in wide, ill-lighted streets of extremely lofty houses. The Wilhelmstrasse appeared to her miles long, though it spread out at intervals, into plexa and gardens, with the Great Brandenburg Gate opening from the tear-garten into the famous Ale-unterden-Linden. Berlin was undoubtedly a city of fine buildings and multitudinous statues. It all seemed very big and mysterious in the moonlight, and even at that hour gave an impression of wealth and prosperity, the monumental piles of palaces and official residences, the magnificent cafes and restaurants. Although these were closed, all contributed to give that solid effect of riches, of bigness, as though the very bulk of the buildings were an asset. It was only later in the sunshine that she saw the real Berlin, the people walking listlessly in mourning, anxious and downcast. In the shops sham foods were exhibited, barrels of butter, tinted to the life, sham margarine, sausages of painted wood, and eggs of polished chalk. Many women of the middle class went in sandals, and others wore boots with wooden soles. Miss Pym was struck by the melancholy and pallor of the faces. Many women carried nets which held half a cabbage, or one turnip, or a piece of smoked fish. They were all prowling about with the same obsession, the hunt for food, something cheap, satisfying, and palatable. The contrast was striking, these palatial buildings all bearing the aspect of immense wealth and these miserable inhabitants. The streets were very quiet, owing to the absence of traffic. Trams were running, but at long intervals. Motors had disappeared, with the exception of military motors and motor ambulances, but these latter took side streets and usually passed at dusk. Miss Pym felt sure that she would find accommodation in one of the big hotels. The Adlon looked grand and quiet. Bed and board here must be the best obtainable, so Miss Pym entered, and finding a lift about to ascend, made her way to the fourth floor, treading richly carpeted corridors. She tried in vain to enter the rooms. Every place was locked. In a service room she found a German girl, telling her fortune with a greasy old pack of cards. On the table beside her was the master key of the rooms. Possessed of the key, Miss Pym walked to the length of the corridor, turned sharp to the left, down another long corridor, and opened at Hazard, No. 95. It was occupied. In every room she visited she found luggage, or people. On the fourth floor there was not a free room. It then occurred to Miss Pym that probably the more expensive rooms on the first and second floors would be untenanted. So she descended and entered. On the first floor a princely suite, bedroom, bathroom, salon, hung with silk, a new-vel art, bed of mahogany and brass, quite a yunker apartment. Miss Pym locked her two bags in a magnificent boule chest of drawers, and decided to indulge in the luxury of a hot bath, a luxury it was indeed, taking away the sensation of depression and fatigue. Then she lay on a silken couch, meditating on her next move. So far she had done nothing of any value to England. She must lose no time on the morrow to make good. Perhaps a visit to the palace of the general staff in the tear-garten would be productive. At any rate she might hear where von Hindenburg was to be found. Next she would visit the different ministries and see the Chancellor, etc. Early the next day she wandered out into the fine Linden Avenue, past the Crown Prince's Palace, the Opera House, the Kaiser's Palace, the innumerable fine buildings, palatial if not palaces, through the Brandenburg Gate, to the Königsplatz. Here she ventured to ask a woman whether the Kaiser was in Berlin. The woman shook her head. He is seldom here now, she replied. Miss Pym continued. I am a Swiss on a visit here for the first time. Berlin is a fine city. Oh yes, it is a fine city, but you are here at a terrible time. Do the Swiss people think the peace will come soon? They say those wicked English people are preventing peace. The peace our Emperor offers. I cannot say when peace will come, replied Miss Pym. But I have heard that the Allies talk of dictating the terms of peace. In Switzerland it is known that the Germans started this war, which shows how the enemy lies, replied the woman. I hope our new Chancellor and our submarines will soon bring them to reason. Is von Hindenburg in Berlin, asked Miss Pym? That I cannot tell you. Some say he has gone east, others that he has gone west. He is not nearly as popular as he was. What is that big building over there? It looks like a museum. No, it is the Palace of the General Staff. The War Office and the Admiralty are away back by the Potsdam gate, quite near what was the British Embassy. To think of our allowing those horrible people to reside within a stone's throw of our War Office. Thank you. It is very kind of you directing me. Tomorrow I must visit your museums. Tell me, where have I the best chance of getting a good dinner? The woman was doubtful. They say there are secret places where rich people can dine well. If that is true it is a wicked shame, for we are all suffering most terribly. I go to the public kitchens with my cards, but the very poor cannot afford the fifty phoenix. If you visited the underground people you would soon realize what Berliners are suffering. Who are the underground people? Why the thousands of poor folk who live in cellars without means of eating? It comes to this. The poor of Berlin are without fires, food, or light. Why don't the people rise up against the Kaiser? Why? The all-highest grieves for us. But what can he do? He must defend his country. It is the English we must punish. From all accounts, their punishment is already severe. They are starving. That is our one joy. There is a good restaurant in Mark-Groffen Strasse, von Bergen's. But, of course, I cannot tell you anything about the food. Restaurants are not for such as I. Miss Pym thanked the woman and retraced her steps along the Linden. Then, turning down Charlottin Strasse, entered the street where she was defined the excellent restaurant. She knew that it was hopeless to ask for a meal without the various tickets, so slipping off her visibility, she passed into von Bergen's restaurant, and choosing a small table in a recess, she went to the dining-room at the back. In more time dinners were served early, and already there were habituaries, with serviettes tied round their necks, clamoring for soup. Miss Pym secured a plateful, which she carried off to her table with a piece of warbread. In this way she helped herself to a sufficient meal without interference. It was dull sitting there alone, but the morrow should prove interesting, and this short respite was not altogether unwelcome, as it enabled her to make her plan of campaign. After a long rest in her sumptuous suite at the Adlon, she returned at seven o'clock to dine at von Bergen's, and then decided to visit Echinema. There were many, so she chose the one where the crowded entrance testified to the popularity of the show, a typical German crowd, where the men elbowed their way rudely, trod upon women's feet without apology, and even pushed them aside with violence. Miss Pym paid for a good place and found herself in a glittering hall, all white and gold paint, and brilliantly illumined by electric lights. At a piano was an old lady, an old man fiddled, and a child played on a cello. A nervous, shabby little German lent Miss Pym his program. I loved to see the English prisoners on the film, he said excitedly. I have been to this show three times already. It revives my flagging hopes. He will see the sub-marining of a proud English ship. Such pictures, being facts, are better than all the newspapers, for to tell you the truth, he added, looking round timidly. I am beginning to doubt some of the victories our papers speak of. Oh, not all, of course, but some of them do not seem convincing. Here, however, we see the actual occurrence. Miss Pym glanced at the program. Decidedly she was to see the humiliation of the British that evening. Is the Kaiser in Berlin, she inquired? No, he is at Potsdam, resting, for he has been making speeches of encouragement to his troops on every front, and they say he is quite exhausted. Hindenburg sent him, because our men showed signs of discouragement. Can it be wondered at? But we must not believe all the dreadful things we hear. That is why I come to this show. It revives my depressed spirits. And does not cost much, he added, with a sigh. Do you expect an early peace, inquired Miss Pym? Why, certainly. There is a Congress now going on at Cologne to consider the terms we shall impose. The All Highest is also arranging a Congress at Stockholm. Not, of course, in his own name. But he settled it all in Russia. He considered it wiser to have it appear democratic. It is like a big lump of cheese in a mousetrap that democratic talk. And the little German gave a merciless cackle as he took off his spectacles and wiped them. You see, he continued, at the beginning of this war, undoubtedly, we were wanting in diplomacy, we were frank and brusque. Now we have learned our lesson, and we are all things to all men. Our Kaiser on occasion encourages democratic talk, and Herr Scheidemann is patted on the back. We speak of paternal love to the Russians, but they are nasty brutes, and we don't love them at all. Any more than the Servians, for whom we have absolute detestation. But diplomacy demands many sacrifices. Pardon me, fraulein. You are not German? No, I am Swiss. I am here for a short visit. I wanted to see the Kaiser, the Crown Prince, the Chancellor, Grand Admiral von Terpitz, all the great people one reads about. The little German cackled again. Well, you could see the Chancellor. He is going to the Admiralty at eleven o'clock, and returns to the Chancellory half an hour later, where there is to be a council. Probably von Terpitz will be there, and many important personages. Macaulis is considered rather reactionary, but he is an able man, undoubtedly an able man. If you stand outside the Chancellory, you will catch sight of him. The Kinema pictures were well done. Scene after scene was depicted, exhibiting the tenderness, the generosity, the chivalry of the German, followed by magnificent instances of their valor. Three Germans standing against fifty Englishmen, all dancing round the Germans with bayonets fixed, unable for some reason or other to hurt the Germans. The last scene fairly roused the house. The three Germans killed twenty Englishmen, and the remaining thirty surrender, crying, Have pity, comrades! It was a mistake in a succeeding film to show some of the men who had been Englishmen before. This time very unmistakable Germans. Miss Pym drew the attention of her neighbor to that fact. See, that stout man with a scar along his cheek. Well just now he was an English prisoner. These pictures are all made up. But Miss Pym found that there are none so blind as those who will not see. Madame, you are mistaken. That German has a fine countenance. He could not look like a pig-dog. But wait, you will see thousands of British prisoners crossing a bridge, with German officers in charge. Miss Pym's heart sank when she saw, only too clearly, a long line of our brave boys advancing across a bridge, accompanied by masses of German soldiers armed to the teeth. As the film unrolled, the public became uncontrollably excited. They cheered. They yelled. Some stood up on the benches, waving their hats. The music played in time with a tramp of feet. And then it dawned on Miss Pym that these British prisoners were being marched and re-marched in endless procession across that bridge. The same men, though of course in different attitudes. And she realized that these exhausted, wounded men were being thus maltreated and humiliated, that the German public might imagine they represented thousands. Shall we have to feed all those prisoners, asked a little girl of her mother, a hard visaged frow who sat next to Miss Pym? Oh no, or so little it doesn't count. If their countrymen like to feed them, well and good, we are indifferent. If they die of hunger, it's their look out. I suppose they are very bad, really, those English? But they have nice faces, said the child. Oh, hush, you bad girl! Never let me hear you say such a thing, said her mother angrily. The little girl was silent for a while, then she began questioning again. Little mother, tell me, do those wicked English ever take our soldiers prisoner? Sometimes, not often. Yes, sometimes our brave men are taken prisoners by the English. And do they starve our men, asked the child? No, I have not heard that they starve them. Your Uncle Heinrich is a prisoner in England. He asked us not to send food. He says he is well fed. But ought we then to starve their men? Oh Dora, you tease me with such foolish questions. Don't you see the difference between your own people and pig-dogs? Those poor prisoners in England are good Germans, who fought in self-defense, fought to keep a home for little Dora. The English are wicked people, who made war on us, from hatred and jealousy. So do not let me hear you pity them, or you shall never again come to the Kinema. Dora was silent and possibly convinced, but she continued to look at the procession of English prisoners with some tenderness. Miss Pym returned to the Adlon, sick at heart. The horror of living amid these people, false to the core, cruel or cringing, coarse and common, was indeed a revolting experience. She must hasten to do what she had undertaken, and then return as quickly as possible to England, to home, to the land of the brave and the free. As she lay down in the wonderful bed, in that sumptuous room at the Adlon, she thought, with pride and love of the allies, all united, not by violence, not by cupidity, not even by a scrap of paper, but fast bound by one ideal, one word, the password of all these people's freedom. CHAPTER 18 The next morning Miss Pym was at the chancellery, before the ministers, when awaited their arrival in the entrance hall, she joined a group of young naval officers, cheerful, irresponsible young fellows, who, although they cultivated the ruthless look, had not quite attained it. Dr. McChialis, the chancellor, entered with a small group of ministers. Miss Pym recognized him from portraits she had seen, a pale, dark man, with the look of a ferocious old woman. On terpets was easily recognizable, though his whiskers were less flowing than we depict them in caricatures. The young naval officers drew back, but McChialis beckoned to one of them, desiring his presence at the conference. Quietly, unseen and unsuspected, Miss Pym mounted the great staircase, entering the council chamber, with the evil looking counsellors. McChialis seated himself at the head of a long table, the others taking seats on either side of the table, according to rank and office. Miss Pym took a chair not far from the young naval officer, and leaning her arms on the table, bent forward and listened intently. McChialis, looking round venomously, began in a rasping voice, to read over the minutes of the last meeting. Then he flung down the paper and began, Gentlemen, whatever we hide from the public, we cannot hide from ourselves the extreme seriousness of the situation. Terpets growled something. My colleague spoke, inquired McChialis, looking daggers. Terpets growled, continue. I do not hold myself responsible, said McChialis, for the mistakes of my predecessors. All I can do is to defend, to the best of my ability, the other land. General von Rosenwald is here to represent the army, as General von Hindenburg is away. Well, gentlemen, army and navy, and state agree that we must intensify the terrorizing of the enemy, north, south, east, and west. By land, and sea, and air, we must be more ruthless, more terrible. The all-highest has said that International law no longer exists, but we go further. I declare to you most solemnly that moral law no longer exists. There shall not be any more moral law. Our annihilation is threatened by the enemy. Shall we then be trampled by considerations of morality? McChialis glared through his spectacles at the assembled counselors. Only the young navalman blushed and looked uneasy. Shall the enemy be exempt from suffering? A thousand times, no. We must increase his sufferings. We must put no restraint on ourselves, but be ruthless, absolutely ruthless. Ah, my dear McChialis, what more would you have, said the general, twirling his moustache? We have done our best. I have summoned you here, continue the Chancellor, to inform you that it is the wish of the all-highest that you do more. Professor von Schaum has completed a new bomb, capable of spreading disease. The difficulty hitherto has been that the heat generated by the high velocity sterilized the germs. That difficulty has been overcome. Then in the future, all wells falling into the enemy's hands must be highly poisoned. We did poison them. Near Bapome, and fifty of our own men died in agonies, said the general savagely. Well, that was gross carelessness on the part of the commanding officers. It is not suggested that our own men be poisoned. Are we going to be squeamish in the fourth year of the war? The needs of national defence must alone decide what it is expedient to do. We must draw up orders to be sent to the Governor of Belgium, directing that every able-bodied man and woman is to be sent to Germany. The broken ones we shovel back to manure the soil. It may be objected. What about the Belgian infants and children? Well, gentlemen, I take it that none of you are particularly anxious to protect that accursed breed. Let them die. We have no use for them. The Belgian girls and young women must be sorted out and served out to good Germans. Then they can return to Belgium, and we shall have a proper Germanic race. The same must be done in conquered French territory. Shall such people be spared the horrors of war? A very wholesome decision has been made that any civilian shot as warning to their community shall not be buried. The corpse lying there as a useful reminder of the fate awaiting traitors. All these things can be done in Belgium, France, and Poland without any danger to ourselves. You understand, gentlemen, that I should be loath to expose good Germans to danger, but these measures can be taken without risk, as the people are in our power utterly helpless. No reprisals therefore are to be feared. Not so with those accursed British, though we can do a great deal to the British prisoners. I have ordered that they have even less food and less exercise. What we want, however, is to bring war home to the English. Zeppelins, alas, have not been successful. Those vile brutes of British actually attack our beautiful airships, and bring them down in flames amid cheers as though it were a port. But we must send more airplanes and still more terrible bombs in order to awaken terror in the British. Oh, Christ blessed would be the German who could terrify those people. We had hoped to put them to the sword, to Germanize them. That, alas, seems an impossible dream. Still, we cannot, we must not give up killing English people. Every dead woman and child in England is a gain to Germany. This is not in humanity. It is a necessary military principle. We must recognize the fact that every day our soldiers are being moaned down by British and French guns, and that we are not getting our share of British and French killed and wounded. This is serious. We must make up the number by attacking English towns and sinking English ships, the smallest fishing boat carrying Englishmen must be sunk without trace, and no lives saved. The naval officer near Miss Pym lent forward, and in a deep voice said, The British save our men. They can afford to do so retorted Machialis savagely. Our men are being killed in France by thousands. The English can afford to appear magnanimous. A nation of hypocrites like the English would not fail to assume virtuous heirs. They think it pays. It does pay. I repeat, they can afford to save a few German sailors. We cannot afford to do so. And it is for this reason I have asked you to meet me today. We must make up by frightfulness for our stupendous losses. Once we succeed in terrifying the British, the end is in sight. Peace efforts, of course, must continue. We have some good friends in England, even in the British House of Commons. Brave men who have dared to call us friends. In public, truly, they shall be rewarded after the war. The All Highest is designing a special medal for them. We are not ungrateful. Then there are newspapers in England zealously working for us. They too will find favour with the All Highest. Skunks muttered the naval officer. Captain Longbrecht seems to disapprove. I think it is a positive misfortune. He was educated in England. He seems to have lost much of his German virility. He is overnight in his ideas of war. Von Terpitz looked at him and laughed. Oh, Longbrecht is all right. Give him a hundred submarines, and he will give a good account of himself. He is a fighter. Macaulis looks sourly at Von Terpitz. I don't expect to hear that you are opposed to ruthlessness. Oh, dear no. England would have been starving by now, if my advice had been taken in time. But chancellors have a way of interfering. Now, it is too late. America has come in, and all the odds are against us, and you know it, Macaulis. And Terpitz polled his whiskers and grinned. I recognize the difficulty, but not the impossibility, continued Macaulis. We must increase the output of submarines. Longbrecht has brought us the design of a very improved submarine. A very wonderful submarine. Is it not dangerous to carry it like that, in the pocket? said one of the ministers. I do not carry it in my pocket, said Longbrecht, smiling as he unfastened his tunic, and groped inside his vest for a flat case made of oiled silk. From this he took a plan drawn on linen, which he handed up to the Chancellor. Macaulis put his hand down on it, and for the first time a lurid kind of smile played about his lips. You have something else there, Longbrecht. The young man hesitated and thrust back the case in his pocket. You have another paper in that case, which I insist on seeing. Longbrecht looked round and said in a low voice. I have only a private paper here. That paper, repeated Macaulis, I insist on having that private paper. Longbrecht shrugged his shoulders and let the slip go. Macaulis glanced at it. What have we here? A long list of places. Dear me, this seems interesting. It is a list of places where I refill my submarines with oil. The first column is a list of depots on the coast of Ireland. Some are caches, some are depots, provisioned by friends there. The next list is for depots in Spain, then Greece, though many there have gone no doubt. It is a very important list to me, sir. I should be glad if you would return it to me. I am uneasy without it. Macaulis looked banteringly at him. Captain Longbrecht has no reason to mistrust anyone here, has he? This was said with a sneer. Miss Pym rose noiselessly and stole behind Macaulis' chair. The submarine plan lay before him, and he held the list between his finger and thumb. Longbrecht looked down at the little silken case in his hand. The submarine design you ordered me to bring here today. But that list of submarine oil depots is my own private property, he said. Nothing useful to the state belongs to the individual. Other submarine commanders should have copies. How else can we hope to destroy England? asked Macaulis. And dropping the list onto the plan, he folded his arms and glared at Longbrecht. In one breathless instant Miss Pym lent forward and snatched up both the submarine design and the list of submarine bases. I have called you here, gentlemen, continued Macaulis, because without doubt the situation is very grave. I will not ask you to take my word alone. Major Fonderhagen will, I think, open your eyes to the terrible military situation. Admiral von Custer hoped to be here, but he is detained at Kiel. Dr. Zolf has, however, heard from him, and he will tell you how hopeless it is for our battleships to attempt engaging the enemy. Dr. Zahn will tell you the views of the Foreign Office. I am right, Dr., in saying that a separate Russian peace is hopeless. Dr. Zahn nodded. All our emissaries are discouraged. What remains, gentlemen, frightfulness and submarines? We must at once build these new submarines which will give us an immense advantage over our enemies. These plans, Macaulis looked down, the plan had disappeared, and the list. He turned a dusky red. Tell Captain Longbrecht to return those papers at once. The captain stood up. Sir, I passed them to you as you desired. You have them. Macaulis lifted the blotting paper, searched amid some papers, stooped and looked under the table. When he rose, he was extremely pale. These papers seemed to have disappeared. I, I don't understand. They were here, and now Miss Pym opened the door and turning to the assembled men. She said in English, and now they are in English hands. Gentlemen, you are done for. The game is up. The sooner you surrender, unconditionally, the better. And she slammed the door, turning the key. She was down the stairs and out of the building before the attendants realized that something unusual was going on. In slow, stolid German style, they gathered outside the door and looked at each other. Something is going on here, they said, listening to the banging of fists on the door and the ceaseless ringing of electric bells. Deliberately they tried the door. It is locked, said one, and here is the key. I found it on the stairs, said another. The released ministers burst out, exclaiming, Did you see a woman? Did anyone see a woman? For it was a woman's voice. Oh, she has certainly escaped by now. The police must find her. The stations must be guarded. Every house in Berlin must be searched. But no one has seen this woman. No description of her could be given. It was not even certain that the unknown, unseen thing was a woman. The voice might well have been assumed. Consternation reigned at the chancellery. CHAPTER 19 Miss Pym's Camouflage Miss Pym, in the meanwhile, sat in von Bühlen's restaurant, rejoicing. At last she had secured something of value to England, something to give the commander-in-chief. These were her first fruits, very sweet and precious they were. She felt a glow of gladness not experienced, since she left home. The ministers she well knew would not publish their loss, but the police would be busy, and woe to anyone who could not give a very full and complete account of himself. I really must leave Berlin tomorrow, thought Miss Pym. There is nothing to gain by lingering here, since I shall have to remain invisible most of the time. But with that gay confidence often engendered by success, Miss Pym resumed her substantial self on leaving the restaurant, and sauntered along the Linden until she found a cafe, where she could sit at a little table and watch the passersby, calling for hot coffee and buying a newspaper filled with wholly fictitious accounts of great German victories. She looked about cheerfully. No one seemed to notice her, and she watched the people with the greatest interest. A quiet, well-dressed German, not far off, was emptying the contents of his pockets on a marble-top table. He put a little pile of copper on one side, another little pile of silver beyond, a gold pencil, a penknife, and various odds and ends, never once looking up. Miss Pym was very puzzled when she saw another man at another table, starting to do the same thing, whereupon the first man swept everything back to his pockets. Number two put coins down, and keys, and card-case, and sat there sometimes staring before him. Miss Pym was now thoroughly interested, and waited to see what the next move would be. Five minutes later another individual appeared. He seated himself at the table next to Miss Pym, and she fairly jumped when she saw him beginning to place the contents of his pockets on the table before him, whereupon number two replaced all the articles he had taken out. Number one now rose, also number two, and number three immediately repocketed his belongings and rose also. And before Miss Pym could in the least understand what it all meant, the three men stood round her. Please make no resistance and consider yourself under arrest. Escape is quite impossible. It will be to your interest to let this little episode pass unobserved by the general public. Number one spoke with great suavity, and evidently fancied himself very much. I am quite willing, replied Miss Pym in German, but I think you ought to sit down here and explain yourselves. It will be simpler, and look more natural. Sit down and tell me why you want to arrest me. Who are you? What are you doing in Berlin? Where are your permits? Your passport. Oh, dear me! Those questions are all easily answered. I am a very harmless, innocent person. A Swiss governess. I have all my papers at the Hotel Adlon. If you will accompany me there, I will, of course, hand them over to you. Do I look like a guilty or dangerous person? Asked Miss Pym, smiling up at them. The men were evidently rather taken aback. Do sit down and explain who I am supposed to be. Let me call for three liqueurs and some more coffee. We will then walk to the Adlon, as you don't seem to have any taxicabs about. The German secret police are not accustomed to such amiable frankness. The absence of all guilty terror on Miss Pym's part was either the deepest cunning or the most transparent innocence. Anyhow, there was no harm in accepting a little glass of Kimmel and talking over her case in a friendly way. You arrived here yesterday? Yes, from Cologne. We knew that you came from Cologne and that you had no passport. I explained that to the police there. I concealed nothing. What did you do last night? I went to a kinema. Yes, that is true, but our men lost sight of you. You seem to evade observation very skillfully. Well, really, I have no intention of evading observation, said Miss Pym. If I had, this is rather a public place for concealment. But I shall satisfy you completely in a very short while. Tell me rather about yourselves. About Berlin. About the war. The men drank their coffee thoughtfully. They were disappointed. This amiable Swiss woman was no dangerous spy. And the Cologne police inspector was an old fool. The war is terrible, said number two. A young detective, warmed by the Kimmel. Our work is ever increasing and our pay decreases. Hush, Johann, said number one. It is not good to converse with the suspected. I wish you would tell me of what I am suspected, said Miss Pym, plaintively. Well, it looks very suspicious to be traveling without passport or police permit, said the man, eyeing her with disfavor. But I shall satisfy you in a few minutes, said Miss Pym, amiably. That says may be, grunted the official. Then your appearance is somewhat English. If you turned out to be English after all, and at the thought three pairs of eyes glistened. If you turned out to be English, he paused in number two, tossing off the last drop of Kimmel. Finished the sentence, we shall all be sorry for you. If I were English then, I should be shot, said Miss Pym pleasantly. Would they torture me first, I wonder? It is ill-joking on such subjects. Germans do not like jokes, said number one, shortly. And now I will trouble you to walk with us to the Adlon Hotel. Gladly replied Miss Pym, rising and facing the three men. Then straightening herself, she pressed back her head, felt the quick spinal thrill, and vanished, swiftly moving back and gliding amongst the tables, set down in a remote corner near a glass windscreen, immensely enjoying the discompature of the three, who darted about wildly, violently gesticulating, frantically questioning the old waiter and two waitresses. The proprietor of the cafe Bauer appeared. He strode up to the three men very angrily, but when he heard that they belonged to the secret police, he became most conciliatory. He invited them into the restaurant, where they doubtless discussed Miss Pym's escape over a bottle of fine old wine. And now for my luggage at the Adlon, said Miss Pym, with a sigh, as she left the cafe and walked down the Linden to the hotel, she had decided to go to Potsdam at once. The Kaiser might be there. Anyhow it was safer to make enquiries there. Berlin was thoroughly awake now, and they had a full description of her. Perhaps it would be better to refit herself in Berlin shops before venturing to reappear, as in German clothes she would lose that English Miss Pym visited many great clothing shops, where she was not, of course, deterred by fantastic prices, the articles being hers for the taking, but the dresses, coats, and hats were so frightful in cut and style, so dreadful in color and shoddy in texture. She hesitated at parting with her good English homespun tweed. Finally she decided to discard her well-fitting tweed coat and soft white silk blouse and to put on a green and yellow plaid merino blouse, sufficiently hideous to be thoroughly German, and to wear a thin jersey of shiny black cloth. She selected a tall hat of violet straw with no brim to speak of, trimmed with pink roses and a vivid purple veil. At an optician's in the Friedrichstrasse, she selected a pair of large convex blue spectacles. These things she carried off to the tear-guard, and making a neat bundle of her hat and coat, she thrust them into some bushes. Then, still invisible, she made her way down the Kernig-Gretzerstrasse to the Potsdam station. She found the station crowded and recognized one of the detectives of the Café Bauer, and as he was talking volubly to other men, she presumed they were detectives also. Indeed, these police spies looked at the part so conspicuously that there was little difficulty in picking them out of any crowd. Miss Pym wondered how invisible she would board the train. She could not expect to get a seat, and though the actual journey would not take much over half an hour, yet it might be difficult and even dangerous to stand up in a crowded carriage. Before she could decide what to do, the train came creaking and jolting into the station, and the people who had been waiting hours ran and pushed and fought each other to get seats. Miss Pym ran the length of the train without seeing the chance even of standing room. Then she saw the conductor swing himself onto the long step of a carriage, unlock a door, and let himself in. Miss Pym, running as she had never run in all her life, caught hold of a fixed bar and pulled herself on to the step. The conductor was in a paneled compartment with a bench, a desk, and a pile of cases, clinging with one arm to the bar. She tried the handle. The door swung open and Miss Pym scrambled in, and panting for breath sank down on one of the cases. The train rattled along very slowly, taking quite an hour to run the sixteen miles to Potsdam. What an oasis it appeared in a sandy plain. Woods, little hills, larger hills beyond, all clothed to the summit, with umbrageous trees, lakes, canals, rivers, everywhere verger, and water. It was soothing and refreshing after the heat and excitement of Berlin. Miss Pym felt a great longing for a cup of real English tea. Her wristwatch marked five o'clock, but the sun seemed almost as fervent as at midday. She made her way to a restaurant by the Statschloss. This place had a pleasant, shady veranda on the river Havel, where big oleanders in tubs, gay with pink blossoms, gave a griable promise of privacy. Before entering Gerhardt's restaurant, Miss Pym resumed visibility, hardly realizing the curious figure she presented, in her purple top hat girt about with roses, her too narrow coat opening on the green and yellow plaid blouse. Her get-up certainly was German, and probably would seem smart and stylish to German eyes. But what would Froghurst have said? A kindly old waiter brought her a comfortable basket chair with cushions, and a little wooden footstool, and then begged to know what her distinguished Excellency would deign to have. Have you any tea? He was doubtful, and this made Miss Pym doubtful. Have you any coffee? I mean real coffee, not Erzotz coffee. I understand Excellency, he replied mournfully. Herr Gerhardt may have a little in reserve for high personages, but you see, the police are everywhere. It is dangerous to produce it. Oh, I will pay well and say nothing, said Miss Pym, smiling as she threw back her purple veil, and removed her glasses. All the old man's hesitation vanished when she pressed a two-mark note into his withered hand. He dragged two oleander tubs nearer, put up a pliable wind-screen, and departed, leaving Miss Pym to a feeling of rest and security from prying eyes. Then came a tray, and Miss Pym found herself pouring out most fragrant pale golden tea, real china tea, and there was a little bowl of whipped cream, and thin slices of dark bread and fresh butter. The old waiter enjoyed her enjoyment. He stood there chatting about his youth, how he had been a waiter at the Langham Hotel. He regretted this war, because you know I like and understand the English. Had her Excellency ever been to England? Miss Pym asked whether the Kaiser was at Potsdam. No, he had gone to the Eastern Front. The Kaiser was depressed, and preferred to withdraw himself from the public eye. When at Potsdam he kept in complete retirement, and hardly ever left the palace in private grounds. This was very bad news for Miss Pym, as it meant delay. It was no part of her program to go to the East to hunt up the All Highest. And von Hindenburg? At Berlin doubtless, or on the Western Front. Potsdam had become quite uninteresting. Miss Pym listened rearily to the old waiter as he enumerated its attractions. The palaces she must not fail to visit. But Potsdam, which was a pleasure resort, is now one of the saddest cities of Germany, he said with conviction. Miss Pym looked up inquiringly, because of the terrible number of wounded and dying brought here. These beautiful palaces, which of course you would only be permitted to view from without, are filled with the wounded. I have a brother at the Potsdam station. He says the trainloads that come by night are something too fearful to witness. A few trains come also by day, but the stations then are cleared. And I have also heard that the wounded are taken to the hospitals in closed furniture vans. You see Excellency, it is not good for the public to know how many wounded we have. Another customer now clamored her coffee. The waiter hurried off, and Miss Pym, having paid her bill, walked thoughtfully away. She determined to spend the whole of the next day at Potsdam. The place was quiet and pleasant. The lakes and streams gave an appearance, if not a feeling of coolness. The sun had disappeared in a glowing furnace. The east was already purple night, whilst the west still retained great reaches of pale gold and pink. It was a very tired Miss Pym who stole invisible into the palest hotel. This time she visited the first floor and found, as she expected, that the finest rooms were unoccupied. After taking the precaution of putting up rugs and coverlets, to prevent any ray of light in the room being seen in the passage, she sat at the open windows and enjoyed the breeze that rippled up from the hobble. It was imprudent to sit at the window of a lighted room. Miss Pym realized this when she smelt a cigar and heard the crunch of gravel in the little garden below the window. She drew the curtains and, feeling wakeful, doubtless owing to the strong green tea, she determined to try the effect of a game of patience. It always soothed her at froghurst and prepared the way for sleep. Suddenly she heard a sound of scrambling and a heavy fall behind her. She turned in terror. The curtains parted in a short, toad-like German, waddled into the room, bowing at every step. Miss Pym felt cornered. She was convinced that invisibility would not save her. She pictured herself dodging round the room. This repulsive little monster groping about for her. Ah, this is an unpleasant way of entering, wheezed the stout little German in English. But there was no help for it. You have led me a dance, Miss Pym. Miss Pym set transfixed, still holding the nave of hearts. Now that you have seen me, and I have seen you, have you any objection to my extinguishing this electric light, he said, again bowing? It was most imprudent of you to sit at that lighted window. Still I mustn't complain, as my visiting this evening is due to that imprudence. Miss Pym, I have been expecting you, and I watched that station all day. How you escaped my Link's eyes is wonderful indeed. As he spoke he extinguished the lights, and Miss Pym's terror became really paralyzing when she heard him scuffle back to the table. Now, Miss Pym, let us understand each other, being both in the Secret Service of England. Yes, he repeated, hearing Miss Pym make an exclamation. Both in the Secret Service of England. But you are a German. Nothing you can say will convince me to the contrary, said Miss Pym finding her voice. Of course I am a German, but please talk lower. Women are always more audible than men. I am of the German nobility, a Baron. I am moreover, in the German admiralty, and I may add, a very highly placed official. And you sell your country, said Miss Pym, unable to conceal her contempt? That is my personal affair, and in no way concerns you, replied the Baron dryly. I have been ordered to look out for you at Potsdam, at about this date. In order to give you advice and instructions, you seek a private, unannounced interview with the Kaiser. And I hear he is in the East, said Miss Pym. He is not in the East. He is here, at the Noyes Palace. Miss Pym started joyfully. Are you sure? I saw him there today. I have not been told what you seek to gain by such an interview. But I may tell you that it is quite useless to attempt it. By no trick or subterfuge will you gain access to his Majesty. It is not even known at Potsdam that he is here. He has one of his morbid hysterical fits on. His own attendants hardly dare approach him. How, then, do you intend to proceed? Miss Pym was silent. And of what use would it be to interview the Kaiser? What do you hope from such an interview? Miss Pym remains silent. Oh, I am not trying to learn secrets, continued the German. I allow you must be clever to have got this far. But you have a very much harder nut to crack when you attempt to interview the Kaiser, and the Kaiser in one of his ferocious moods. It might make good copy for a journalist, but I gather you are here to obtain information likely to be of use to the Commander-in-Chief and to your government. From the Kaiser you will obtain nothing. He is a vain mountabank, maddened by failure. If you succeeded in reaching his presence you would never escape. You would be shot dead on the spot. This attempt is really suicidal. Miss Pym did not know how to answer this strange German without giving herself away, so she maintained an obstinate silence, which evidently angered the consequential little spy. Madam, your discretion passes the bounds and becomes incivility. I do not mean to be uncivil, she replied. But I am much startled by your visit. And you have not, so far, told me anything which I did not know, excepting, of course, the fact that the Kaiser is at Potsdam. For that piece of information I am grateful. But, sir, you appear anxious to question me, and frankly I refuse to be cross-examined. Miss Pym heard in the dark that mirthless laugh, so characteristic of Prussians. Well, I oughtn't to blame you for being cautious, he said, but it is difficult to help, or to advise you, seeing that you do not trust me. Miss Pym thought this over. You are very kind, Baron, but I really do not see how you can possibly help me. Still, your advice may be valuable on one point. Ho, ho, we are coming round. Let me hear this one point, chaffed the fat little Baron. If I fail to see the Kaiser, is there anything else I could do in that palace to get information? I repeat, you will get no information, as you call it, from the Kaiser or anyone else. Pray be assured of that. But in some room there, occupied by the All Highest, there is a very compromising correspondence of the Kaisers with von Bettmann Holweg, also copies of letters he wrote to his bosom friend. The late General von Holsen, who died at the end of 1913. The Kaiser, so I understand, wrote quite openly to von Holsen about the war, and between them they decided it should be after the harvest of 1914. These letters are known to exist. They certainly would be worth having. Invaluable, indeed, when the true history of this war comes to be written. But whether they are here or in Berlin, who shall say? One thing I do know, the Kaiser carries a small gold key folded back inside the big seal ring he wears on the third finger of his right hand. This, I imagine, is the master key which opens private drawers or bureaus of the All Highest. The only chance of getting these letters is to obtain the key, and I can safely defy you to accomplish such a feat. Well, I dare not stay here any longer. Would you like to send a letter to England? I am sending papers by a neutral. Ms. Pym shook her head, then suddenly she decided to send a few lines to Leslie. May I have the light? I think I should like to write to my niece. She drew a hotel blotter towards her, with sheets of hotel paper. Cutting off the address and the picture of the hotel giving a view of the river hovel, she wrote, My dear Leslie, I am in perfect health and very busy. Do not be anxious about me. Please tell Bessie to put naphthalene balls to my furs after shaking them well in the sun. It is also advisable to pass a house flannel steeped in turpentine on the carpets under the beds to keep away moths. I quite forgot to beg you, most earnestly, to see that the oats given to Bobby are bruised, as his teeth are so old he cannot get proper nourishment. Of course, James knows this, but being old himself, he may think it too much trouble. Ever your loving, Auntie Purr. She addressed an envelope and then passed the letter across to the Baron, whose keen eyes were reading her face with such acuity, she felt as though they were two insects walking over her features. I do not ask to read your secrets, madam, protested the Baron. But I beg you to read my letter, Ms. Pym smiled. Since you so kindly make yourself my courier, it is necessary you should see what I write. So you write in code, said the Baron, after attentively perusing the note. Indeed I have done no such thing. I do not know any code, and certainly my niece would not be able to decode anything I might write. But then what is the meaning of this? Just what I say. Does it surprise you? Very much. If you were not English, I should say it is incredible. But you English are such an amazing people. So idiotically cool and unimaginative. Here you are going to certain death, and you write about preventives against moths. Well, if daring could help you, you would succeed. But daring will avail you nothing. When do you propose making the attempt? Tomorrow evening. Now do not forget the royal apartments are on the left side of the mighty building, as it faces you, looking out on the wild park. You may easily lose your way. There are three hundred rooms. You surprised me, exclaimed Ms. Pym. I understood that the palace was not a palace at all, but rather a fine country-house of an English-timbered style of architecture, standing in an English-looking park. You must be thinking of the Babelsburg Palace on the other side of the hobble. The Kaiser is not there. It now belongs to the Crown Prince. Oh, the Kaiser used to live there, but not for some years. He now occupies the noyest palace in the Saint-Sousie. Quite a good walk from here. But you must not dress so so showily. I cut sight of you at the Gerhardt Café today. That hat is what the French would call voyant. Decidedly so. Ms. Pym blushed. I got those frightful things hoping to look more German. I got them yesterday in Berlin. Well, there is German and German. I should advise you're getting hold of the complete costume of deep mourning in such a dress you are likely to pass unobserved. For today it is the universal garb throughout Germany. But unless you positively steal the things, I do not see how you will get so much as a pocket-hanger chip. You are not permitted to buy any clothing unless you can produce the clothes you wore in rags. I will do my best, said Ms. Pym. But shall I see you after, after, on no account, said the Baron, growing pale at the thought? You must never approach me, nor write to me, nor even recognize me. It would mean my ruin, probably my death. I will take care then to avoid you, said Ms. Pym. And if chance ever brings me face to face with you, I promise not to recognize you. But I should like to convey to you the fact that I escaped with my life. So if I do, I will stick an envelope in this window, and if I succeed in interviewing the Kaiser, I will put two envelopes against the pain, and if I get those incriminating papers, why then, see, I will put an envelope in the other window. The fat little German tried to look sentimental, but he only succeeded in looking very comic, as he stood up and took Ms. Pym's hand. Farewell, may you succeed, charming, mysterious lady. I can understand the accepted methods of the Secret Service, but your methods, I confess, are quite beyond me. How you manage to travel without a passport, to eat without food tickets, to enter a hotel without a police permit, it is quite miraculous. You move about with apparent freedom and complete self-confidence. If you knew my people as I know them, why you would die of fright and save them the trouble of killing you. I undertook a certain task, Baron, and I am anxious to carry it through. I hope I shall succeed. There are moments when I feel nervous, but they pass. Well, good night, and goodbye. As I am staying at this hotel, said the Baron, I would prefer going out of this room by the door. If you will allow me, I will again extinguish the light and cautiously look out. Ms. Pym heard nothing after the room was darkened. She waited, then creeping to the door, found it partly open, and she knew the German had made good his escape. Locking up her possessions, she descended, invisible, to the dining room, where she saw the Baron very intent on the menu. She fetched her supper and ate it in a remote corner. She was sickened by the food in Germany. Of course, under the circumstances, she was not limited to quantity, but the quality was so bad, Ms. Pym feared she would become seriously ill if she lingered very much longer in Germany. Everybody and everything were depressed and depressing. Everyone seemed to know that Nemesis was about to demand payment. The German people who had exalted over the fall of Belgium, the expected enslavement of France, and the coming subjugation of England now saw not only their own bitter defeat, but also the annihilation of all hope of a future successful war. There was something awful in this new strange tameness of the baffled brute. Ms. Pym could almost hear the snarling sob of the beast of prey, and yet she knew that the deliverance of humanity could only come when the yelps and snarls turned into the howl of utter defeat. She watched the officers, the few German women, the cynical traitorous Baron, and she felt in their company something that amounted to physical shrinking and loathing. It was a long while before she slept. The sweet night air, cooled by the river hobble, played with the curtains and puffed gently at Ms. Pym, saying, You can't be German. Germans never admit me. I always beat in vain against their closed windows. At last the tender breeze brought sleep, and Ms. Pym dreamt she was gathering roses, great bunches of roses, at Froghurst Manor. END OF CHAPTER XXI The next day Ms. Pym wandered invisible about Potsdam, but the dull regularity of the buildings soon drove her to the parks. The formal French garden of Saint-Sousie appeared to her unattractive. Perhaps the fierce heat and lack of shade made the architectural garden unpleasing to her. The straight lines of clipped hedges, the long tears of terraces, the multitude of stiff fountains and statues, with here and there a temple or an artificial ruin, fatigued the eye. This Pym sat down by the great fountain and stared up at the broad flight of a hundred steps leading to the palace of Saint-Sousie, but felt not the smallest desire to mount them. Leaving the formal garden, she went through the park to the Orangery Palace, another immense building in the Italian style, with towers and terraces, and the inevitable statue of a William or a Frederick. Berlin and Potsdam are dotted all over with epigies of these monarchs in stone, bronze, or marble. Ms. Pym also noted the quite extraordinary number of single figures, groups, or equestrian statues, all emblematic of war. At last she came to the new palace, a vast quadrangular building, a brick, with long, cloistral colonnades. Here she must return at night and interview the Kaiser. It might have been well to reconnoit her then and there, but the long walk and the great heat proved so exhausting. Ms. Pym even wondered how she would get back to Potsdam, but after refreshment at the Stott-Kernigsberg Hotel and a cup of tolerable coffee, for which she paid four marks, Ms. Pym became cooler and almost somnolent. And it was quite late in the afternoon, when she remembered the Baron's advice and decided to forage about in Potsdam, for less conspicuous clothes. In a very select establishment she discovered mourning attire of a good cut and fine texture. She was trying on one of the very somber crepe bonnets with long veils, when an attendant, seeing Ms. Pym's purple hat, snatched it up with an exclamation. Ms. Pym, thereupon, decided to keep the bonnet she was trying on, and with the black dress and jacket rolled up under her arm. She hurried back to her room at the Palace Hotel. Ms. Pym had been tempted by a rich silk mantle. But remembering that the rustle of silk would always betray her presence, she had selected a long, loose coat of fine black cash mirror, edged with crepe and a skirt to match. Ms. Pym fairly gasped when she saw herself in the long mirror. These trappings of grief somehow did not harmonize with her sensible, cheerful face. But when the immense crepe veil was drawn over the bonnet and fell almost to her feet, Ms. Pym viewed this monument of woe with awe. Having resumed visibility, she walked slowly down the Wilhelmstrasse, really somewhat oppressed by her clothes. But after a while she forgot herself, and soon the normal Ms. Pym was flinging back her embarrassing veil, and gazing in at the shop windows, or watching the Berlin crowds listlessly wandering about the streets. Excursionists from Berlin, even in wartime, came out to Potsdam, attracted by woods, hills, and lakes. The Ulan barracks appeared empty, but on the great drill ground of the Hussars barracks, near the Berlin Gate, she saw a great number of young Germans being drilled, boys of sixteen and seventeen, and down a side street she saw an old, spectacled schoolmaster actually goose-stepping along the sidewalk followed by his pupils, boys from six to ten or twelve years old. Ms. Pym asked a woman at the door of a house who was watching the strange procession. Why children were made to do drill, so very young. Oh, it is soldiering morning, noon, and night. These little ones are preparing for the next war. I used to think war was a fine thing, but we are sick of the horror of it. We were promised a short victorious campaign. We were to have Paris, Calais, England, in a few months. But here we are in the fourth year of the war, and every family in Germany is bereaved. Pardon me, Gennady Gafral. Have you suffered recently? Ms. Pym did not reply, but again looked at the young cadets drilling in the barrack yard. Then turning to the woman, she asked, When shall we have peace? The woman in a low voice replied, It is said, it is whispered, that we shall only get peace when we surrender. There is not a wife nor a mother in Germany who would not gladly surrender this very day, rather than continue. As evening approached, Ms. Pym decided that she would dine at the staff officer's mess, and from there proceed to the new palace. She left her rucksack at the hotel, taking only her handbag, after emptying the contents into one of the drawers which she locked. The officer's quarters were in the Stotzchloss, and all the officers were at mess, in a room off the fine hall. Ms. Pym entered unseen, feeling too excited, too wound up to eat. At a rather long table, fourteen men were seated. Dinner was nearly over, and they lulled back in their chairs, sipping sweet champagne and smoking big cigars. Some of them had, but recently recovered, from wounds, and were on light duty. Others looked very ill and worn. There were few sound men amongst them. Though the wines circulated freely, and in the greatest variety, they appeared sober enough. Ms. Pym sat down on a velvet couch behind two particularly care-worn officers, and listened to their conversation. It appeared to be on the shortage of essentials—horses, winter clothing, for the men, leather, rubber, etc. The elder man kept rubbing his face wearily, as the younger and more valuable one said repeatedly, So you see, you see the difficulty, no rubber you see, you see the trouble, no copper. Suddenly the elder man asked abruptly, What about the English woman, that spy at Berlin? Has she been caught? Oh yes, replied the other. You may depend on it. They have got her by now. I heard only Mark you, I don't in the least vouch for it, that she was present at a private conference presided over by Mikaelus, and that she stole a lot of maps and most valuable papers from right under his nose. There were awful scenes, and there is a huge sum offered for her apprehension. Wouldn't I like to catch her? said the younger man. My debts are such a burden. I hardly know what will become of me. Well, she isn't likely to come here, where there's nothing doing, unless she comes to note our wounded as they are carried from the train. What, with all those spies and detectives and agents at the stations? Not likely. We are shooting that other English spy sometime tomorrow. Dear me, another English one? Yes, and a woman too. She was English governess to Baron Munchausen's children when war broke out. As the Baron naturally refused to keep her in his house, she was arrested and interned for some months. Then she was allowed to go and live in a pension in Belgium. Later she heard that an officer, an Englishman she was engaged to, was a prisoner at Liège. So she must need thrust herself there. The man escaped, and she was accused of getting him out, and helping another officer to escape. And for that she is to be shot. The Governor, not liking the responsibility, has, I understand, asked the Kaiser whether she shall be shot or imprisoned for life. It's a disagreeable business, but these women's spies are more dangerous than the men. They must be got rid of. Otherwise we should be overrun by them. Still, getting your lover away isn't quite spying. No, that is why they are referring it to his Majesty. Where is he? At Potsdam? I heard he was at Berlin. One never knows. He goes about very secretly. He isn't popular just now. Well Colonel Fistner said something about his being here. He had a fearful row with the Crown Prince, and is now in one of his unapproachable moods. I pity his ballot, don't you? The Crown Prince is really behaving disgracefully. You know Anna Bauer of the Valhalla? Would you believe it? He, Miss Pym, moved off to another group, gravely discussing the chances of peace. I still believe we shall pull it off with Russia, why we are spending millions there, and we have awfully good agents at Petrograd. I don't believe in using men of our own nationality. Our best helpers are Russians, and in England, Englishmen. Still, we got Trebuch, the Hungarian so-called Lincoln, into the English Parliament. And he isn't the only one. But we do better by using the native. In England, there are plenty of fools playing our game. And of course, there are many to whom we are paying out good German gold. In China also, we have to pay. Shang Tsung required a very big sum to restore the boy emperor, and did not succeed. Ah, but he very nearly did succeed. Whereas that ass, Major Poppenheim, who tried to blow up the Siberian bridge, was skillfully got rid of by the Russians. And lots of our fellows in America have failed just because we tried to pull off the trick ourselves. We should use the material of each country. Hard dial in India is an excellent agent. And we had others in Persia. Those are scattered now, but we shall look them up by and by. In France we have good friends, some most able Frenchmen, though maybe rather under a cloud. You see, our German agents are not sufficiently well acquainted with the characteristics of the different nations. Would any of our men have had the wit to plead with Englishmen, as did an eminent English writer the other day, who begged them to talk over peace conditions with us on the ground that we were penitent? Isn't that exquisite? We Germans penitent? So the English expect to see the German nation performing an act of penitence, beating its breast and sitting down in sackcloth and ashes, and abasing itself by crawling beneath the yoke of contemptible exactions. The English author goes on to say that England should meet us at Stockholm or anywhere to talk matters over, believing that if England assures Germany a tolerable national existence, mark the word tolerable, then the grateful German democracy will overthrow the supports of militaristic imperialism within the German Empire. Why do you quote such rubbish to us, growled a colonel? Why, to show you what goes down with the British? Was there ever such an idiotic people? Still, such talk is really and truly helpful to us, especially if such tosh helps to bring about a conference at which these simpletons would attend. What we want now is a conference, and that is only to be obtained by smooth words, by appearing to be in a chastened mood. We should make use of native talent in every country we are fighting. In Italy we have a good friend. In Russia we had the Empress, and Rasputin, and Sturmer. Today we have any number of supporters there. But why enumerate further? In England there are newspapers, which you might imagine to be subsidized by us. Perhaps they are. I know we tried to buy French newspapers, so it is quite likely we have an interest in some English papers. Shall we drink, then, to our English friends? This was greeted by an Homeric laugh. We'll bring down the Britishers yet, shouted a fair-haired youth, with a pasty complexion. And if we don't, our sons will. So let us drink to the next war. When I was in hospital said a huge fellow, carrying his arm in a sling. I soothed myself when in pain, by thinking of what we should do in England when we landed. I let myself imagine we were marching through Kent. I saw, hold your tongue, Leimann. I know what you did in Belgium, so I don't fancy hearing a recital of your daydreams. Oh, we'll kill all right, and destroy when we get there. I don't see Germans then in a penitent or chastened mood. We'll smash the English yet, yes, and enjoy doing it. But wait till we do. Let them but give us a conference. If we can talk and negotiate, we shall win. And now for the dancing girl at Hertzberg's rooms. The officers jumped up and going to a table in the big hall, where they had deposited their weapons. They commenced buckling on their swords and pistol holders. Miss Pym followed them, and picking up an automatic pistol, which she put into her handbag, passed out into the dark streets. As she entered the park of San Susy, the moon appeared in full radiance. A cold glory, lighting every path and alley. Miss Pym never forgot that night, as she walked gravely towards the new palace. Now in the inky shadow of trees, now in the colorless moonlight, herself, shadowless. The palace gates were shut the centuries paced the colonnade within the great quadrangle. There were lights in the outer buildings, but the long lines of windows were darkened. Miss Pym made detours, but saw no open gate, no door, a jar, where she might enter. Returning to the great gates of the main entrance, she saw the push button of an electric bell, shining white in the moonlight. There was nothing for it. She must ring like a visitor. For quite thirty seconds she pressed the bell, and saw two men, accompanied by two soldiers, crossed the courtyard, and approached the gates. They peered out through the bars, but seemed indisposed to open, seeing no one there. Miss Pym assumed a gruff voice and shouted in German, Open scoundrels, and do not keep your betters waiting. At once the porters swung open one side of the great gate, and stepping forward, looked up and down and round about. Miss Pym passed in, as four soldiers joined the astonished porters. She left them quarreling and passed along the great frontage of windows to the right of the building, on the wild park side. Finding no entrance, she retraced her steps and walked to the left wing. At the farther end, near an open door, servant girls were larking with sentries. One girl was throwing food, bread and sausage, at a soldier, who caught it in his mouth like a clever dog. Miss Pym brushed past them, and ran down a long passage. Kitchens, butters, pantries opened on to the passage. A leather-padded swing door led into one of the corridors of the palace. Opening a lofty door on her left, Miss Pym found herself in a long hall or gallery, lit up by the moon. The polished floor gleamed like silver, and all along the walls the moon shone on upright glass cases containing shells and minerals, which sparkled and glittered so brilliantly that Miss Pym had the impression of walking at the bottom of the sea. Everywhere she saw shells and corals and rocks, a most unexpected and truly remarkable sight. This gallery reached the whole length of the palace. Opening the door at the end, she found a square hall and staircase leading up to the private imperial apartments. Ascending the fine staircase, she heard voices and doors opening and closing. The first floor was lighted at intervals by shaded lights. A huge German in a Jaeger uniform walked up and down, turning sharply as though on parade. Miss Pym watched and listened. Voices could be heard in one of the rooms which was on the soldier's beat. She paused at the door, waiting for the soldier to pass, and as he did so she grasped the door handle, turned it gently, and found herself in the bed chamber of the All Highest. It required all her self-possession quickly and gently to close the door and walk into the room, every detail of which was forever to be photographed on her brain. The room was spacious, but too lofty, thus wanting in perfect proportion. At first she saw only the bed, softly lighted by a silk-shaded electric lamp. The bed was low, immense and very flat. Far up overhead a golden eagle held a ring in its fierce curved beak, and from the ring descended thick blue silk curtains of woven damasks, which parted and drew back like a woman's hair on a white forehead. The light fell on the Kaiser, sitting up very erect, hardly leaning at all on the piled-up pillows, dressed in white silk pajamas. He set, clasping the hands of a man in faultless evening dress, a burly fellow with a golden beard and brown hair. The Kaiser looked old, but less old than she had expected. The bony frame of his face stood out sharp, leaving shaded hollows which molded the face so that it might have belonged to a bust of anxiety and sorrow. The eyes were fierce and restless, rather bulging and even scared in expression. The moustache was quite white and much smaller than in his earlier portraits. Miss Pym thought here is a man who has a look of the Kaiser, but she would never have picked him out as the all highest. Somewhat unshaven he had a neglected appearance, which was heightened by the disorder of his abundant white hair, which stuck up in a way we call staring when applied to the coat of an animal. His complexion was well tanned by sun and air, leaving a white top to the forehead, where the helmet or cap protected it from the light. The man looked curiously insignificant, and yet, thought Miss Pym, how extraordinarily significant, for here was the man who had caused the depth of millions, soaked Europe in the red blood of youth, and caused a river of tears to bathe the world. This, this was his Imperial Majesty, who wishing above all things to bulk large in history, hath thrown himself on crime, and crowned himself with infamy. Purdy to Pym gazed on that face, partly familiar, partly strange and unknown. Surely this was the evil one who had to be loosed a little season out of his prison, and who went out to deceive nations which are in the four quarters of the earth to gather them together to battle. The number of whom is as the sand of the sea. He was speaking querulously to the stout German. Sit here on the bed, Anton. Talk to me. I am so troubled. You wouldn't believe what I have to put up with from Vili. Am I not Kaiser? Why, I could degrade him to sublutenant tomorrow, if I pleased. He and his yunker friends got betmunt pushed out. My dear betmunt, you know, Anton. Betmunt and I, we understood each other. He never irritated me. Now Vili and his detestable set got Mikaelis in Betmunt's place. Ach, Mikaelis. A nobody at all. Just their tool. When I go and speak of what I will do to those bare-flipped English, Mikaelis jumps up and talks of peace negotiations. He's just a weathercock, turns every way, and is no man for me. Anton, it is bad for my health to get so angry. My stomach and brain suffer. Yesterday, but for you, my beloved Anton, I should have killed von Volsrode. Yes, with these hands in spite of the gout in this finger. Dear me, gout, your majesty. I don't believe a young and vigorous man like your majesty suffers from gout. Besides, you are so abstemious. A pattern for us all. Gout, no, that is impossible. A smile of relief flickered across the Kaiser's face. But see this finger. It is red and swollen, he said plaintively, holding his right hand up for Anton's inspection. Who took it with the gentleness of a woman. No, no, it is not gout. See, this heavy gold ring is rather tight. Your finger has swelled, and there is a little eczema caused by moisture. You should slip the ring off at night, and put on a little powder to cool the hand. Perhaps you are right, said the Kaiser. But it is hard to get off. And the all-highest worked the ring off with an effort. Put it there beside my watch, near the glass of orange flower water. Miss Pim's eyes shone with eager gladness. The key ring, kneeling on a velvet settee at the foot of the bed, she lent her arm on the carved footboard and watched the Kaiser, as though she must read him through and through, and photograph the image of him on her brain. You soothe and quiet me, Anton, he said sentimentally, lying back on the great square pillows. There, there, it's all right, murmured the big German. In the tones of a monthly nurse, Hindenburg worries me, continued the all-highest fretfully. He knows I can't stand the sight of blood, yet he always wants to drag me to battlefields. Especially in the east, why I shiver these hot nights, only to think of the cold I endured last winter in Poland. And now he wants me to visit Riga. I dread a cold more than anything, and I had to stand in the snow, talking to the men. No, I will not go again. But, Anton, it is worse in the west, you know, to see dead men and wounded men. They ought to be cleared away when I come. Why don't they clear away those awful bodies? And it hurts me to hear men groaning. You understand, Anton? Yes, your Majesty. I know better than anyone how sensitive you are, how full of deep feeling. You cannot hear the groans of your brave warriors without acute suffering. Yes, it is just that. How you do understand me, Anton. No one realizes how I shudder at the sight of blood. Ah, well, your Majesty must keep away from battlefields for a bit. And yet the crown prince harasses me, to go to his front, to address his men. He says they are discouraged, and that they are beginning to surrender. Ah, he's no good as a soldier. Only think, Anton, of the men he has lost. Why, I lie awake night after night, especially when I am upset. As I have been all this week, first by one, then by another. There was a pause. Anton evidently wished to say something. But the Kaiser's mood was un propitious. Then William II, who was lying back, opened his eyes and smiled. My friend, you are getting fat. In spite of the food restrictions, your dress suit is too tight, and the Kaiser laughed boisterously, seeing Anton's embarrassment. He always enjoyed finding a raw spot. Yes, you are losing your figure, and with it, you will lose your power over women. Your Majesty is pleased to make merry. But I came not for mere jesting. I came really to petition your Majesty. Surely I have been troubled enough today, said the Kaiser, moving his head restlessly on the pillows. I should have waited till tomorrow, but by then it will be too late. Replied the big German, seriously. The Kaiser, still in a cheerful vein, pretended to look shocked. Oh, Anton, you are a sad dog. Some new love affair? You want me to order the husband to the front? No, Your Majesty. It is not a petition for myself. But this evening, young Dürzenberg arrived from Berlin. There has been an informal meeting of some of the ministers, and they are very anxious that you should remit the sentence of death passed on that English girl, Miss Lucy Price, at the edge. The Kaisers face clouded. This is Mikaelis. And since when has he grown tender towards the English? He growled. Oh, it is not tenderness, Your Majesty. It is only policy. Mikaelis says that shooting this young woman will have a very bad effect with neutrals. She is not a spy, and she only helped her fiance to escape. It is an affair of sentiment. Nevertheless, an Englishman escaped. And she is English. That is enough. The Governor of Belgium is only doing his duty. Let her die. But, Your Majesty, Mikaelis says it will have a deplorable effect in England and in America. The Kaiser sat up with a jerk. His face twisted with rage. His lips drawn back from his teeth. You quote Mikaelis to me? And he thinks my action shall depend on the effect made in England and America? By every man, woman, or child of those accursed countries, I would gladly see killed. Nay, I would gladly kill with these hands. Oh, they sicken me. Craven dogs, Holland's turn shall come. My brave men will make short work of the Dutch. Sweden and Norway had better look out. Those wooden houses would burn nicely. Neutrals. Has my policy ever been dictated by the opinion of enemies and neutrals? The Governor of Belgium is after my own heart. He shall be decorated. Mark that. Decorated. Let Mikaelis notify him that for this particular act of justice, the execution of this Englishwoman, he shall receive from me the order of the Red Eagle. Miss Pym turned her eyes away from the fiendish face of the Kaiser, away from the stout German seated beside him, and she saw an English girl waiting in a prison at Liege for the last dawn when she was to step out into the prison yard, there to die for saving her beloved. Silence had fallen. Anton rose abruptly, making a military salute. It must be as the all highest wills. I motor back at once to Berlin. Any other orders from your Majesty? No, said the Kaiser shortly, closing his eyes. Again bowing, Anton turned and left the room. Walked up to the bedside and took up the Kaiser's ring, which she ran on to her left thumb. Then swiftly she returned to the foot of the bed. The world would be well rid of this monster, and she must be the instrument of its deliverance. Taking the revolver out of her bag, she calmly eyed the all highest. He was sitting up alert. He had heard some movement in the room. He shall see me. I will not shoot unseen, thought Miss Pym. Then straightening herself till she felt the short spinal spasm, she reappeared and covered the Kaiser with the automatic. You abject villain, she cried. Prepare to die, and fired. But there was only a click. Perhaps the first shot had been spent. Miss Pym thoroughly roused, clicked the pistol again and again, then hurled it at the Kaiser, who was yelling to the guard. He had thrown himself out of bed, and was dodging about the room as Miss Pym kept getting between him and the door. She had no sooner flung away the pistol than the tall Yeager rushed in followed by other attendants. In a flash Miss Pym became invisible, but her excitement was so great, she feared that the beating of her heart would betray her presence. The Kaiser, still shaking, recovered his dignity with an effort, seating himself on the bed. He directed his servants to search every corner and covered. When Anton appeared in a huge motorcoat and goggles, Miss Pym's emotion took the form of laughter, which she could not stop. It was so wild and uncanny that everyone stood as though petrified. You hear that, Anton? said the Kaiser. It is the mad English woman. What English woman? As soon as you left, a woman dressed in black from head to foot crept up to this bed and fired at me repeatedly, or rather attempted to fire. But the pistol appears not to have been loaded. She then hurled it at me. Yes, there it is, as one of the servants picked up the pistol. You see, this is no dream, no disordered fancy. Besides, you heard that hyena laugh. She must be hidden somewhere. Miss Pym edged along to a door, opened it gently and slipped into a large, dark room. She felt her way along by the wall on the left, till she came to a door, locked inside. Turning the key very softly, she let herself out into the corridor and descended the staircase. She must now commence the hunt for the papers. Which was the Kaiser's private sitting-room? She entered room after room, suites of empty, unlived-in apartments, and at last decided that the room she sought must be on the same floor as the bed-chamber. Cautiously re-ascending, she peeped into many rooms, faintly illumined by the moon. At the end of the long passage she entered a fine library, somewhat after the English style. Switching on the electric light, she decided this must be the Kaiser's private sanctum. Bad works of art, by himself, frightful designs in clay, photographs of children and grandchildren, but most of all, photographs of himself in every conceivable uniform, miniatures of himself painted on ivory, an oil portrait of the all highest on his favorite charger. Certainly this was the Kaiser's room. Could it be doubted? She sat down at a beautiful writing table with armaloo legs, and tried to open the drawers, which were locked. Taking off the ring, she turned the key out by a hinge, and the drawers opened. With feverish haste she looked through the papers, but they were mostly architectural plans by the Kaiser. Mosques and Buddhist temples he intended building in the Concord East. Miss Pym, as she sat there, looked round the room, for any likely places where the Kaiser might place his private correspondence. Her eyes fell on a tall cabinet of drawers, of an exquisite grain of mahogany, known as letter wood, set in a lacework of gilded metal. The drawers were all fastened by a single band of wood running down the side, which was locked. The gold key opened this easily. The confining bar turned back on a hinge, and every drawer could be opened. Miss Pym pulled out one after another, and was rewarded by finding each drawer contained a year's most private and intimate correspondence. Neatly tied up and docketed, every package dated. Hasteily descending to the last five drawers, she emptied the contents onto the floor, closing each drawer as she emptied it. The last was only half full, and less orderly. She was standing there, wondering how to carry off all these papers. When she heard voices, and Anton entered with a tall young officer she had seen at mess. There was only one thing to do. Miss Pym subsided on the heap, just as a hen would over her chicks. All the papers disappearing, even as she herself had disappeared. Anton was perturbed. He sat on the edge of the table, somberly eyeing his big feet. The officer sat down in one of the large, easy chairs, and lit a cigarette. What do you think it all means, he asked, striking a match? Oh, I am hanged if I know, replied Anton, ruefully. But this story of a woman all in black, what do you make of it, continued the other. Well, someone did laugh in that room, and a pistol was picked up. But it is one of our own service automatics, you know. And why shouldn't the old boy have thrown it there himself? As for the laugh, in the mood he is in, he would as soon laugh as shout. I think, Anton, the Kaiser has attacks of insanity. Oh, do hold your tongue. As if there wasn't trouble enough. I have had such a beastly day. The people are just wild for food. I came from Berlin this afternoon. They were firing on the women in the streets. Some women threw themselves before the trains at the Lereta station. I believe that lame devil Koitsik is at the bottom of all this trouble. He was at Cologne the other day, and tried to speak at the conference, urging the people to strike for peace. And do I know not what? Then he slipped away. But the police say he is hiding in Berlin. However, they'll get him three days hence. There is to be a big socialist gathering at which he is to speak. So we shall get him there, and he will be sent to the front. What, that lame fellow? Yes, I believe he hobbles a bit. He will be trained for a week or so at the machine gun. And then, one fine day, our reformer will be put in the front trenches, chained by the leg to his gun, and goodbye, friend Koitsik. Well, I must be off. I return without a reprieve for that English girl. It is rather horrible executing a woman for helping her lover to escape. Is that so? Did the lover get clear away? Yes, and the poor wretch doesn't know the girl is to pay with her life for his escape. Everything is horrible, and my position of aid to camp to the crown prince is the most horrid of all. Well, I am off, said Anton. I hope the All Highest won't break out again. You are here for tonight, so if the English woman in black reappears you will have to catch her and attend her execution. And readjusting his goggles, Anton and his friend went out, extinguishing the lights. Miss Pym sat there till all was quiet, then turning on the light, she examined the papers, but decided not to untie the packets. She spread a silken table-cover on the floor, and placed the heap of papers in the center, and knotted up the corners of the silk. Then, shouldering this strange bundle, she walked quietly past the two guards, down the grand staircase to one of the farther apartments, where the furniture was shrouded in linen sheets, and lying down with the letter bundle for Pillow, she slept uneasily, waking with heavy starts and sighs. Perhaps the contents of those letters exercised some baneful influence. Perhaps the thought of Koitsik's danger troubled her, but as the morning advanced, she slept better, and it was quite nine o'clock before Miss Pym swung her feet to the floor, and decided she badly needed breakfast. It will go hard if I cannot find a breakfast, and a bath in the new palace, thought Miss Pym. After much exploration, a very up-to-date bathroom was discovered, but the water was cold. However, a cold bath, with the thermometer rising to eighty, was quite indurable, though Miss Pym always preferred hot water to cold. Refreshed, she made her way along the gallery of shells and mineralogical specimens to the kitchens. Intent on hot coffee, real coffee, not the disgusting substitute, and real bread. It is only in Germany, thought Miss Pym, that one's mind keeps running on food. She found a stout German chef, very busy over the fristic, the early breakfast. Coffee was being poured boiling into silver jugs, with discrete little blue flames beneath footmen, with trays ready, waited for the hot milk which was palpitating in the great copper saucepens, hot milk rolls, thin slices of ham, butterpats imprinted with royal eagle, honey in the comb, dishes of smoked delicacies, and pate de foie gras were allotted to each tray. As soon as the jugs of milk and coffee were placed on the tray, a footman snatched it up and disappeared. Miss Pym found it very difficult to grab a tray with one hand, as she could not relinquish the letter bundle, but she accomplished the feat, and wandered off to the long gallery of shells and mineralogical specimens, where she sat down to the best breakfast she had enjoyed since leaving home. Beautiful! On her way to the palest hotel, she saw a shop where large brown canvas bags were hanging by leather straps. Before the war, these bags were largely in request, being more portable than basket or trunk. Miss Pym detached one with difficulty and carried it off to her room at the hotel. In this she stowed all the letters, the silken coverlet, which she valued as a trophy, and the contents of her rucksack. At first she tried strapping the canvas package round her waist, but it was awkward and bulky, and impeded her movements. So she managed with the straps of the discarded bag to fasten it to her shoulders and carry it packwise on her back. She did not find it heavy or inconvenient, and if Miss Pym had not been fifty and sober-minded, she would have skipped round the room like a kid. Now mindful of her promise to the Baron, she fastened the envelopes up against the windowpains and, taking a farewell look round the room, she left her old rucksack as a memento of her unperceived visit and walked to the Potsdam station. Once in Berlin, Miss Pym made her way to the Adlon Hotel. The grander the hotel, the more likely she was to secure a room. This time she took a fine suite overlooking the Linden, and in a deep drawer to the hat some wardrobe, she bestowed her bundle. Of course it might be discovered, but Miss Pym felt she must take the risk, which was minimized by lock and key. During the uncomfortable journey from Potsdam in the luggage fam, Miss Pym had thought out her day in Berlin. Koitsch it must be warned. At the number in Merkelstrasse she might find him, or someone who could be trusted to convey a message to him. And if revolutionary friends were indisposed to put themselves out, Miss Pym must journey to warn him wherever he might be. The day was still too young, she thought, for a visit to the nest of desperados. Miss Pym had a melodramatic picture in her mind of revolutionaries sleeping all day in underground bunks, and by night armed to the teeth seated at a rough table plotting by the light of guttering candles stuck in bottles. So Miss Pym spent a dreary day examining monuments of warrior kings or wandering through museums. She began with the National Gallery, where she saw, without observing some eleven hundred oil paintings and thirty thousand watercolours, she next attempted the Emperor Frederick Museum, but rejoiced to find it closed. At Ravane's picture gallery, less fortunate, she gained admission and viewed a collection of old Berlin masters, each picture more frightful than the last. The Museum of Industrial Art fairly finished Miss Pym and drove her to the restaurant Royal on the Linden, where she picked up the best meal she could get. But it came to her very forcibly that Germany was experiencing a most alarming food shortage. The private gormandising she heard Germans complain of Miss Pym did not believe in. There was no sign of it anywhere. Sausages could still be bought, but no English person could trust himself to touch that most doubtful composition. Even the smoked and preserved fish had gone beyond the power of smoke and salt to preserve. Miss Pym was sick of Berlin. She sat with a cup of coffee at the Café Royal and watched the passers by till the hot sun disappeared, leaving a hot twilight. Miss Pym had not a notion where to look for Merkelstrasse, a mean street leading down to the Spree. As the Spree meanders all over Berlin it would be very difficult to find. The only thing was to walk to some poor quarter near the river and inquire from children. Even this method failed. She was frequently misdirected and as often disappointed. Up and down streets of lofty houses, awful tenement buildings, teeming with women and children back from munition works. Miss Pym trudged along, looking a very woe-begone person in bedraggled mourning. Her feet were so tired she felt as though her boots were sold with lead. Literally she regretted the miles of museum floor she had paced. An aged German Jew, wearing a kind of caftan and an exceedingly dirty smoking cap, bowed to her deeply as she passed and begged the genetic afrao to honour his poor dwelling, where possibly some of his antiques might tempt her. Miss Pym decided to honour him. It would be well worth her while to pay some marks for the chance of resting a little while. The black underground cellar was crowded with rusty fenders, worn out old stoves, lame tables, and all the refuse of decayed tenements, which had withstood the disintegration of years. Miss Pym sank down on a wooden stool polished by generations of Germans. Possibly good as Grandmother's cook had sat on that very stool. I am afraid you have nothing here which could possibly tempt me, sighed Miss Pym looking round. The fact is, I am looking for a street, a very poor street, leading to the spree, and no one can direct me. I have lived in Berlin close on eighty years. Maybe I could direct you. But if you will come into my back shop first, I will show you something more tempting than this rubbish, he said. And lifting back some old clothes hanging on the wall, he stooped and led the way through a black hole. Striking a light he held up a candle, and Miss Pym found herself in a small room lined with very old, very bad oil paintings. Here you see a collection of priceless old masters, said the aged Jew, his eyes glistening. But if they do not tempt you, I have treasures more portable, more valuable, and more easily concealed, and groping inside his caftan. He brought out a leather bag, and poured into his hand a little heap of diamonds. The majority were small, but there was a fair number of large-sized diamonds which glittered in the Jew's black hand like fragments of stars. Take your choice, Browline. They are of a fine water, priceless gems. Miss Pym turned away. I am very sorry, but I cannot buy diamonds. I am travelling and returned to my home in Switzerland in a few days. I could not buy diamonds even if I wished to do so, because I have not enough money. But these I would sell you at a quarter of their value, O most greatly honoured lady. You would make money on them in Switzerland. Four times over what you paid. Miss Pym was firm and stooped to go out through the low doorway. The old man swept the precious stones back into the leather bag and begged Miss Pym to select a small Raphael or a sketch by Rubens. But Miss Pym instinctively objected to being hustled into making purchases. Once again in the dismal shop, the Jew resumed his mournful deprecating air. Perhaps the lady would return on the morrow and view his art treasures by a better light. Miss Pym now longing to be gone, as the dusk had deepened into night, and poor streets are ill-lighted, assured the old man that she might return with a friend who collected pictures. Could he tell her where Merkelstrasse was? Merkelstrasse leading down to the spree? Why, yes, he knew it very well. But it had an evil name, and it was hardly a safe place to visit at night. Miss Pym insisted that she must go there, and if he would accompany her so far, she would give him a mark. The old man's eyes shone, and he readily consented. The street was not more than a quarter of an hour's walk, he said. But it would be hard to describe the turnings.