ce. Apparently he was staying with his
car. About three o'clock in the morning, when the first streaks of grey
were showing in the sky, van Heerden rose to go in search of his
assistant. Until then he had not ceased to talk of himself, of his
scheme, of his great plan, of his early struggles, of his difficulties
in persuading members of his Government to afford him the assistance he
required. As he turned to the door she checked him with a word:

"I am immensely interested," she said, "but still, you have not told me
how you intend to send your message."

"It is simple," he said, and beckoned to her.

They passed out of the house into the chill sweet dawn, made a
half-circuit of the farm and came to a courtyard surrounded on three
sides by low buildings. He opened a door to reveal another door covered
with wire netting.

"Behold!" he laughed.

"Pigeons!" said the girl.

The dark interior of the shed was aflicker with white wings.

"Pigeons!" repeated van Heerden, closing the door, "and every one knows
his way back to Germany. It has been a labour of love collecting them.
And they are all British," he said with a laugh. "There I will give the
British credit, they know more about pigeons than we Germans and have
used them more in the war."

"But suppose your pigeon is shot down or falls by the way?" she asked,
as they walked slowly back to the house.

"I shall send fifty," replied van Heerden calmly; "each will carry the
same message and some at least will get home."

Back in the dining-room he cleared the remains of the supper from the
table and went out of the room for a few minutes, returning with a small
pad of paper, and she saw from the delicacy with which he handed each
sheet that it was of the thinnest texture. Between each page he placed a
carbon and began to write, printing the characters. There was only one
word on each tiny sheet. When this was written he detached the leaves,
putting them aside and using his watch as a paper-weight, and wrote
another batch.

She watched him, fascinated, until he showed signs that he had
completed his task. Then she lifted the little valise which she had at
her side, put it on her knees, opened it and took out a book. It must
have been instinct which made him raise his eyes to her.

"What have you got there?" he asked sharply.

"Oh, a book," she said, with an attempt at carelessness.

"But why have you got it out? You are not reading."

He leant over and snat