the
door and we were alone. "Shand is guest here with me under the name of
Pawson, while, as you know, I'm Captain Kinghorne, D.S.O. This is
necessary," he laughed. "The name of Bob Brackenbury would, in an
instant, frighten away our friend the German. The people here, the
Edgcotts, don't know our real names," he added. "All you have to do is
to remain here and act as I direct."

A moment later the stout American entered and greeting me, turned to his
friend, saying:

"I suppose Nye knows that Charles Shand is off the map at present, eh?"

"I've just been explaining," my master replied.

"And you'd better spread a picturesque story among the servants, too,
Nye," the American went on--"the bravery of Captain Kinghorne at
Ladysmith, and the wide circle of financial friends possessed by
Archibald Pawson, of Goldfields, Nevada. The Edgcotts must be filled up
with us, and that infernal Dutchman mustn't suspect that we have
anything to do with Whitehall."

At that moment William, the valet, came in.

"Von Rausch met a strange man this afternoon in a little thatched inn
called the 'Fitzwilliam Arms,' over at Castor. They were nearly half an
hour together. One of the grooms pulled up there for a drink and saw
them."

"Suppose he met one of his secret agents," remarked my master, with a
glance at his friend. "We've got to have our eyes open, and there
mustn't be any moss on us in this affair. To expose this man and his
spying crowd will be to teach Germany a lesson which she's long wanted.
We shall receive the private thanks of the Cabinet for our services,
which would be to us, patriotic Englishmen as we all are, something to
be proud of."

"Guess two heads are better than one, as the hatter said when twins
entered his shop," laughed the broad-faced American.

We both agreed, and a few moments later I left the room.

The Edgcotts seemed to be entertaining quite a large house-party, all of
them smart people, for that evening after dinner I caught sight of
pretty women in handsome dresses and flashing jewels. Being a warm
night, bridge was played in the fine old hall, where the vaulted roof
echoed back the well-bred laughter and gay chatter of the party, which
included Mr. Henry Seymour, Civil Lord of the Admiralty, and several
well-known politicians.

Essentially a sporting crowd, many of them were men and women who hunted
in winter with the Cottesmore, the Woodland Pytchley and the Edgcott
packs. William and I pe