about as well as any living man. Do you think that
kind of thing is possible?' I asked.

'Perfectly,' said Sandy, with a grave face.

'Well, there's the ground cleared to begin with. Then there's the
evidence of pretty well every secret agent we possess. That all seems
to prove the fact. But we have no details and no clues except that bit
of paper.' I told them the story of it.

Sandy studied it with wrinkled brows. 'It beats me. But it may be the
key for all that. A clue may be dumb in London and shout aloud at
Baghdad.'

'That's just the point I was coming to. Sir Walter says this thing is
about as important for our cause as big guns. He can't give me orders,
but he offers the job of going out to find what the mischief is. Once
he knows that, he says he can checkmate it. But it's got to be found
out soon, for the mine may be sprung at any moment. I've taken on the
job. Will you help?'

Sandy was studying the ceiling.

'I should add that it's about as safe as playing chuck-farthing at the
Loos Cross-roads, the day you and I went in. And if we fail nobody can
help us.'

'Oh, of course, of course,' said Sandy in an abstracted voice.

Mr Blenkiron, having finished his after-dinner recumbency, had sat up
and pulled a small table towards him. From his pocket he had taken a
pack of Patience cards and had begun to play the game called the Double
Napoleon. He seemed to be oblivious of the conversation.

Suddenly I had a feeling that the whole affair was stark lunacy. Here
were we three simpletons sitting in a London flat and projecting a
mission into the enemy's citadel without an idea what we were to do or
how we were to do it. And one of the three was looking at the ceiling,
and whistling softly through his teeth, and another was playing
Patience. The farce of the thing struck me so keenly that I laughed.

Sandy looked at me sharply.

'You feel like that? Same with me. It's idiocy, but all war is
idiotic, and the most whole-hearted idiot is apt to win. We're to go
on this mad trail wherever we think we can hit it. Well, I'm with you.
But I don't mind admitting that I'm in a blue funk. I had got myself
adjusted to this trench business and was quite happy. And now you have
hoicked me out, and my feet are cold.'

'I don't believe you know what fear is,' I said.

'There you're wrong, Dick,' he said earnestly. 'Every man who isn't a
maniac knows fear. I have done some daft things, but I