ree was going on
amongst men who are wearing the King's uniform."

"It's ugly," Ambrose muttered, "damned ugly!"

"Look at me," Major Thomson continued thoughtfully. "Every secret
connected with our present and future plans practically passes through
my hands, yet no one watches me. Whisper a word at the War Office that
perhaps it would be as well--just for a week, say--to test a few of
my reports, and they'd laugh at you with the air of superior beings
listening to the chatter of a fool. Yet what is there impossible about
it? I may have some secret vice--avarice, perhaps. Germany would give me
the price of a kingdom for all that I could tell them. Yet because I am
an English officer I am above all suspicion. It's magnificent, Ambrose,
but it's damnably foolish."

The young man watched his chief for several moments. Thomson was
standing before the window, the cold spring light falling full upon his
face, with its nervous lines and strongly-cut, immobile features. He
felt a curious indisposition to speak, a queer sort of desire to wait on
the chance of hearing more.

"A single kink in my brain," Thomson continued, "a secret weakness,
perhaps even a dash of lunacy, and I might be quite reasonably the
master-spy of the world. I was in Berlin six weeks ago, Ambrose. There
wasn't a soul who ever knew it. I made no report, on purpose."

"Perhaps they knew and said nothing," Ambrose suggested softly.

There was a moment's silence. Thomson seemed to be considering the idea
with strange intensity. Then he shook his head.

"I think not," he decided. "When the history of this war is written,
Ambrose, with flamboyant phrases and copious rhetoric, there will be
unwritten chapters, more dramatic, having really more direct effect
upon the final issue than even the great battles which have seemed the
dominant factors. Sit tight here, Ambrose, and wait. I may be going over
to Boulogne at any hour."

Thomson pushed on one side the curtains which concealed an inner room,
and passed through. In a quarter of an hour he reappeared, dressed in
uniform. His tone, his bearing, his whole manner were changed. He walked
with a springier step, he carried a little cane and he was whistling
softly to himself.

"I am going to one or two places in the Tottenham Court Road, by
appointment," he announced, "to inspect some new patterns of camp
bedsteads. You can tell them, if they ring up from Whitehall, that I'll
report myself later in the eve