You took a few chances, Max," he remarked. "It's all right, of
course, because you got away with it, but----" He whistled again,
thoughtfully.

"Sendelbeck must haff his letter. Yess? Also!"

"Certainly. I guess that was the only way--if she was really going to
take it up to young Barres. And I guess you're right when you conclude
that Nihla won't make any noise about it and won't let her friend,
Barres, either."

"Sure, I'm right," grunted Freund. "We got the goots on her now. You
bet she's scared. You tell Ferez--yess?"

"Don't worry; he'll hear it all. You got that letter on you?"

Freund nodded.

"Hand it to Hochstein"--he half turned on his rickety chair and
addressed a squat, bushy-haired man with very black eyebrows and
large, angry blue eyes--"Louis, Max got that letter you saw Nihla
writing in the Hotel Astor. Here it is----" taking the pasted
fragments from Freund and passing them over to Hochstein. "Give it to
Sendelbeck, along with the blotter you swiped after she left the
writing room. Dave Sendelbeck ought to fix it up all right for Ferez
Bey."

Hochstein nodded, shoved the folded brown paper into his pocket, and
resumed his cards.

"Is thim rifles----" began Soane; but Lehr laid a hand on his
shoulder:

"Now, listen! They're on the way to Ireland now. I told you that. When
I hear they're landed I'll let you know. You Sinn Feiners don't
understand how to wait. If things don't happen the way you want and
when you want, you all go up in the air!"

"An' how manny hundred years would ye have us wait f'r to free th'
ould sod!" retorted Soane.

"You'll not free it with your mouth," retorted Lehr. "No, nor by
drilling with banners and arms in Cork and Belfast, and parading all
over the place!"

"Is--that--so!"

"You bet it's so! The way to make England sick is to stick her in the
back, not make faces at her across the Irish Channel. If your friends
in the Clan-na-Gael, and your poets and professors who call themselves
Sinn Feiners, will quit their childish circus playing and trust us,
we'll show you how to make the Lion yowl."

"Ah, bombs an' fires an' shtrikes is all right, too. An' proppygandy
is fine as far as it goes. But the Clan-na-Gael is all afire f'r to
start the shindy in Ireland----"

"You start it," interrupted Lehr, "before you're really ready, and
you'll see where it lands the Clan-na-Gael and the Sinn Fein! I tell
you to leave it to Berlin!"

"An' I tell ye lave it to the Cl