d that quiet hand of his. "I order you to sit down and
be silent," he said.

Captain von Wetten hesitated. It seemed to Herr Haase, for a
flattering instant, that the captain's eyes sought his own, as though
in recognition of a familiar and favorable spirit. He tried to look
respectfully sympathetic.

"Very good, your Excellency," said Von Wetten, at length. "The
Emperor, of course, will be informed."

He turned and stalked away to his former place. The Baron, watching
him, smiled briefly.

"Well, Herr Bettermann," said the Baron, rising stiffly, "it will not
help us to have this arrangement of ours in writing. I think we'll
have to trust one another. Our chemists, then, can come to you for
the formula as soon as you have finished with Colonel von Specht?
That is agreed yes? Good! And you see, I was right from the
beginning; I did not need my cheque-book after all."

He began to move towards the house, beckoning Captain von Wetten and
Herr Haase to follow him. Herr Haase picked up the empty suit-case,
stood aside to let Von Wetten pass, and brought up the rear of the
procession.

At the foot of the wooden steps that led up to the veranda, the Baron
halted and turned to Bettermann.

"One thing makes me curious," he said. "Suppose we had not accepted
your terms, what would you have done? Sold your machine to our
enemies?"

Bettermann was upon the second step, gauntly silhouetted against the
yellow wood of the house. He looked down into the elder man's strong
and subtle face.

"No," he answered. "I meant to at first, but I haven't purged the
German out of me yet and I couldn't. But I'd let your army of slaves
and slave-drivers be beaten by its own slavery as it would be and you
know it. I wouldn't take a hand in it; only, if anything happened to
me; if, for instance, I disappeared some night, well, you'd find the
machine and the formula in the hands of the English, that's all!"

He turned and led the way up the wooden steps. It seemed to tired
Herr Haase, lugging the suit-case, that Captain von Wetten was
swearing under his breath.

He was not imaginative, our Herr Haase; facts were his livelihood and
the nurture of his mind. But in the starved wastes of his fancy
something had struck a root, and as he rode Thun-wards in the front
seat of the car, with the suit-case in his lap and the setting sun in
his eyes, he brooded upon it. It was the glimpse of the little wife
in the balcony the girl who had lived wit