y the face of
that nightmare of mine after sampling Sandford's old cognac! I sat there
staring at her, like a man in a dream. The countenance was the sweetest
and most perfect I had ever gazed upon. Yet why had I seen it in my
unconsciousness?

I noticed that she started. Then, turning her head, she leaned over and
whispered something to her companion. Next moment, pulling her cloak
about her shoulders, she rose, and they both left hurriedly.

What could her fear imply? Why was she in such terror of me? That look
of horror which I had seen on that memorable night was again there--yet
only for one single second.

My impulse was to rise and dash after the pair. Yet, not being
acquainted with her, I should only, by so doing, make a fool of myself
and also annoy my lady friend.

And so for many days and many weeks the remembrance of that sweet and
dainty figure ever haunted me. I took a holiday, spending greater part
of the time on a friend's yacht in the Norwegian fjords. Yet I could not
get away from that face and the curious mystery attaching to it.

On my return home, I was next day rung up on the telephone by my friend
Major Carmichael, of the Intelligence Department of the War Office, who
had been one of my assistants in preparing the forthcoming book. At his
urgent request I went round to see him in Whitehall, and on being
ushered into his office, I was introduced to a tall, dark-bearded man,
whose name I understood to be Shayler.

"My dear Jacox," exclaimed the Major, "forgive me for getting you here
in order to cross-examine you, but both Shayler and myself are eagerly
in search of some information. You recollect those maps of yours, marked
with all sorts of confidential memoranda relating to the East
Coast--facts that would be of the utmost value to the German War
Office--what did you do with them?"

"I deposited them here. I suppose they're still here," was my reply.

"Yes. But you'll recollect my warning long ago, when you were
reconnoitring. Did you ever allow them to pass out of your hands?"

"Never. I carried them in my portfolio, the key of which was always on
my chain."

"Then what do you think of these?" he asked, walking to a side table
where lay a pile of twenty or thirty glass photographic negatives. And
taking up one of them, he handed it to me.

It was a photograph of one of my own maps! The plan was the section of
country in the vicinity of Glasgow. Upon it I saw notes in my own
handwri