The fourth letter presented difficulties until I returned from dinner
that night and saw a taxi waiting before our quiet house. Hence
the visit of the woman with the lilac perfume. I am afraid the
Wilhelmstrasse would have little use for a lady spy who advertised
herself in so foolish a manner. Time for writing the fifth letter
arrived. I felt that I should now be placed under arrest. I had a faint
little hope that you would be sorry about that. Oh, I'm a brute, I know!

Early in the game I had told the captain of the cruel way in which I had
disposed of him. He was much amused; but he insisted, absolutely, that
he must be vindicated before the close of the series, and I was with him
there. He had been so bully about it all. A chance remark of his gave me
my solution. He said he had it on good authority that the chief of
the Czar's bureau for capturing spies in Russia was himself a spy. And
so--why not a spy in Scotland Yard?

I assure you, I am most contrite as I set all this down here. You must
remember that when I began my story there was no idea of war. Now all
Europe is aflame; and in the face of the great conflict, the awful
suffering to come, I and my little plot begin to look--well, I fancy you
know just how we look.

Forgive me. I am afraid I can never find the words to tell you how
important it seemed to interest you in my letters--to make you feel that
I am an entertaining person worthy of your notice. That morning when you
entered the Carlton breakfast room was really the biggest in my life. I
felt as though you had brought with you through that doorway--But I have
no right to say it. I have the right to say nothing save that now--it
is all left to you. If I have offended, then I shall never hear from you
again.

The captain will be here in a moment. It is near the hour set and he is
never late. He is not to return to India, but expects to be drafted for
the Expeditionary Force that will be sent to the Continent. I hope the
German Army will be kinder to him than I was!

My name is Geoffrey West. I live at nineteen Adelphi Terrace--in rooms
that look down on the most wonderful garden in London. That, at
least, is real. It is very quiet there to-night, with the city and its
continuous hum of war and terror seemingly a million miles away.

Shall we meet at last? The answer rests entirely with you. But, believe
me, I shall be anxiously waiting to know; and if you decide to give me a
chance to explain--to