e bewildered lawyer.

"That The Day--the real Day is near at hand," said Beale soberly.

"War?"

"Against the world, but without the flash of a bayonet or the boom of a
cannon. A war fought by men sitting in their little offices and pulling
the strings that will choke you and me, Mr. Kitson. To-night I am going
after van Heerden. I may catch him and yet fail to arrest his evil
work--that's a funny word, 'evil,' for everyday people to use, but
there's no other like it. To-morrow, whether I catch him or not, I will
tell you the story of the plot I accidentally discovered. The British
Government thinks that I have got on the track of a big thing--so does
Washington, and I'm having all the help I want."

"It's a queer world," said Kitson.

"It may be queerer," responded Beale, then boldly: "How is my wife?"

"Your--well, I like your nerve!" gasped Kitson.

"I thought you preferred it that way--how is Miss Cresswell?"

"The nurse says she is doing famously. She is sleeping now; but she woke
up for food and is nearly normal. She did not ask for you," he added
pointedly.

Beale flushed and laughed.

"My last attempt to be merry," he said. "I suppose that to-morrow she
will be well."

"But not receiving visitors," Kitson was careful to warn him. "You will
keep your mind off Oliva and keep your eye fixed on van Heerden if you
are wise. No man can serve two masters."

Stanford Beale looked at his watch.

"It is the hour," he said oracularly, and got up.

"I'll leave this untidiness for your man to clear," said Kitson. "Where
do you go now?"

"To see Hilda Glaum--if the fates are kind," said Beale. "I'm going to
put up a bluff, believing that in her panic she will lead me into the
lion's den with the idea of van Heerden making one mouthful of me. I've
got to take that risk. If she is what I think she is, she'll lay a trap
for me--I'll fall for it, but I'm going to get next to van Heerden
to-night."

Kitson accompanied him to the door of the hotel.

"Take no unnecessary risks," he said at parting, "don't forget that
you're a married man."

"That's one of the things I want to forget if you'll let me," said the
exasperated young man.

Outside the hotel he hailed a passing taxi and was soon speeding through
Piccadilly westward. He turned by Hyde Park Corner, skirted the grounds
of Buckingham Palace and plunged into the maze of Pimlico. He pulled up
before a dreary-looking house in a blank and dreary street, an