o
penetrate, at any rate in the long run, the most effective
disguise. What did Bellward look like? Where did lie live? How
was he, Desmond, to disguise himself to resemble him? And, above
all, when this knotty problem of make-up had been settled, how
was he to proceed? What should be his first step to pick out from
among all the millions of London's teeming populace the one
obscure individual who headed and directed this gang of spies?

Why hadn't he asked the Chief all these questions? What an
annoying man the Chief was to deal with to be sure! All said and
done, what had he actually told Desmond? That there was a German
Secret service organization spying on the movements of troops to
France, that this man, Basil Bellward, who had been arrested, was
one of the gang and that the dancer, Nur-el-Din, was in some way
implicated in the affair! And that was the extent of his
confidence! On the top of all this fog of obscurity rested the
dense cloud surrounding the murder of old Mackwayte with the
unexplained, the fantastic, clue of that single hair pointing
back to Nur-el-Din.

Desmond consoled himself finally by saying that he would be able
too get some light on his mission from Barbara Mackwayte, whom he
judged to be in the Chief's confidence. But here he was doomed to
disappointment. Barbara could tell him practically nothing save
what he already knew, that they were to work together in this
affair. Like him, she was waiting for her instructions.

Barbara received him in a neat little suburban drawing-room in
the house of her friends, who lived a few streets away from the
Mackwaytes. She was wearing a plainly-made black crepe de chine
dress which served to accentuate the extreme pallor of her face,
the only outward indication of the great shock she had sustained.
She was perfectly calm and collected, otherwise, and she stopped
Desmond who would have murmured some phrases of condolence.

"Ah, no, please," she said, "I don't think I can speak about it
yet."

She pulled a chair over for him and began to talk about the
Chief.

"There's not the least need for you to worry," she said with a
little woeful smile, like a sun-ray piercing a rain-cloud, "if
the Chief says 'Go back to France and wait for instructions,' you
may be sure that everything is arranged, and you will receive
your orders in due course. So shall I. That's the Chief all over.
Until you know him, you think he loves mystery for mystery's
sake. It isn'