f German discipline kneads militarists.

But the door opened again to admit the last of the guests. A
woman entered. Desmond was immediately struck by the contrast she
presented to the others, Mortimer with his goggle eyes and untidy
hair, Max, gross and bestial, Behrend, Oriental and shifty, and
the scarecrow figure of the tall man.

Despite her age, which must have been nearly sixty, she still
retained traces of beauty. Her features were very regular, and
she had a pair of piercing black eyes of undimmed brightness. Her
gray hair was tastefully arranged, and she wore a becoming black
velvet gown with a black lace scarf thrown across the shoulders.
A white silk rose was fastened to her bodice by a large black pin
with a glass head.

Directly she appeared, the tall man shouted to her in German.

"Sag' mal, Minna..." he began.

Mortimer turned on him savagely.

"Hold your tongue, No. 13," he cried, "are you mad? What the
devil do you mean by it? You know the rules!"

By way of reply, "No. 13" broke into a regular frenzy of coughing
which left him gasping for breath.

"Pardon! I haf' forgot!" he wheezed out between the spasms.

The woman went over to Mortimer and put out tier gloved hand.

"I am Mrs. Malplaquet," she said in a pleasant voice. "And you
are Mr. Mortimer, I think!"

Mortimer bowed low over her hand.

"Madame, I am charmed to meet one of whom I have heard nothing
but praise," he said.

"Verry pretty!" replied Mrs. Malplaquet smiling. "They tell me
you have a great way with the ladies, my dear sir!"

"But," she went on, "I am neglecting our host, my dear Mr.
Bellward. How are you, my friend? How well you are looking... so
young... so fresh! I declare you seem to have got five years
younger!"

The keen black eyes searched Desmond's face. He felt horribly
uncomfortable. The woman's eyes were like gimlets boring right
into him. He suddenly felt that his disguise was a poor one. He
remembered Crook's warning to be wary of women, and he inwardly
quailed.

"I am so glad to meet you again!" he murmured. He didn't like
Mrs. Malplaquet's eyes. They assorted strangely with the rest of
her gentle and refined appearance. They were hard and cruel,
those black eyes. Thy put him in mind of a snake.

"It is so long since I've seen you," she said, "that positively
your voice seems to have changed."

"That's because I have a cold," said Desmond.

"Fiddlesticks!" retorted the lady, "the timbre is quite