f way up they set off a hidden bell, by treading on some concealed
button under foot; and a man, dressed only in undershirt and trousers,
appeared at the top of the stairs, silhouetted against a bright light
burning on the wall behind him.

"Oh, all right," he said, recognising them, and turned on his heel
carelessly, pocketing a black-jack.

They followed to a closed door, which was made out of iron and painted
like quartered oak. In the wall on their right a small shutter slid
back noiselessly, then was closed without a sound; and the iron door
opened very gently in their faces.

The room they entered was stifling--all windows being closed--in
spite of a pair of electric fans whirling and droning on shelves. Some
perspiring Germans were playing skat over in a corner. One or two
other men lounged about a centre table, reading Irish and German
newspapers published in New York, Chicago, and Milwaukee. There
were also on file there copies of the _Evening Mail_, the _Evening
Post_, a Chicago paper, and a pile of magazines, including numbers
of _Pearson's_, _The Fatherland_, _The Masses_, and similar
publications.

Two lithograph portraits hung side by side over the fireplace--Robert
Emmet and Kaiser Wilhelm II. Otherwise, the art gallery included
photographs of Von Hindenburg, Von Bissing, and the King of Greece.

A large map, on which the battle-line in Europe had been pricked out
in red pins, hung on the wall. Also a map of New York City, on a very
large scale; another map of New York State; and a map of Ireland. A
dumb-waiter, on duty and astonishingly noiseless, slid into sight,
carrying half a dozen steins of beer and some cheese sandwiches, just
as Soane and Freund entered the room, and the silent iron door closed
behind them of its own accord and without any audible click.

The man who had met them on the stairs, in undershirt and trousers,
went over to the dumb-waiter, scribbled something on a slate which
hung inside the shelf, set the beer and sandwiches beside the skat
players, and returned to seat himself at the table to which Freund and
Soane had pulled up cane-bottomed chairs.

"Well," he said, in rather a pleasant voice, "did you get that letter,
Max?"

Freund nodded and leisurely sketched in the episode at Dragon Court.

The man, whose name was Franz Lehr, and who had been born in New York
of German parents, listened with lively interest to the narrative. But
he whistled softly when it ended:

"