gainst the ship's planks filled the cabin
with a rustle as of silk. Hillyard drew a deep breath of excitement as
he took out from the drawer the letters he had carried off from M. de
Cassaud. He had travelled straight through Barcelona to Valencia with
the letters in his pocket, picking up Fairbairn at the Estacion de
Francia on the way, and now, in the sunlight and in the secrecy of the
open sea, they were to appraise the value of their catch.

They sat at the table and examined them, opening the envelopes with the
skill and the care which experience had taught them. For, even though
this post-road was henceforth closed it might possibly be worth while to
send forward these letters. One or two were apparently family letters
for German soldiers, interned at Pampluna; one or two were business
communications from firms in Berlin to their agents in Spain; and these
seemed genuine enough.

"They may be of value to the War Trade Board," said Fairbairn; and he
put them aside for dispatch to London. As he turned back Hillyard cried
suddenly:

"Here we are!"

He had come to the last letter of the little heap. He was holding the
envelope in front of him and he read out the address:

_"Mr. Jack Williams,_
_"Alfredo Menandez, 6,_
_"Madrid."_

Fairbairn started up, and tugging at his moustache, stared at the
envelope over Hillyard's shoulder.

"By Jove!" he said. "We may have got something."

"Let us see!" returned Hillyard, and he opened the envelope.

As he spread out the letter both men laughed. The date of the month had
been corrected by the writer--thus:

8
"_July_ 27th, 1916."

[Transcriber's note: The original text has a slash through the 7.]

There was no doubt any longer in either of these two men's minds that
hidden away under the commonplaces of a letter of affection was a
message of grave importance.

"They are full of clever tricks in Berlin," said Hillyard cheerfully. He
could afford to contemplate that cleverness with complacency, for it was
now to serve his ends.

There was a German official of high importance living in the Calle
Alfredo Menandez, although not at number 6 in that street. The street
was a short one with very few numbers in it; and it had occurred to the
German official to point out to the postman in that street that if
letters came to English names in that street of which the owners could
not be discovered, they were probably fo