orn-rimmed spectacles and took some papers from his
pocket.

"Sir," he began, speaking deliberately but without any foreign accent,
"I am here to make certain proposals to you on behalf of a person who at
your own request shall be nameless."

Lord Romsey frowned ponderously and tapped the desk by his side with his
thick forefinger.

"I cannot prevent your speaking, of course," he said, "but I wish you to
understand from the first that I am not in a position to deal with any
messages or communications from your master, whoever he may be, or any
one else in your country."

"Nevertheless," the other remarked drily, "my message must be
delivered."

An impulse of curiosity struggled through the gloom and apprehension of
Lord Romsey's manner. He gazed at his visitor with knitted brows.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "An Englishman?"

"It is of no consequence," was the colourless reply.

"But it is of consequence," Lord Romsey insisted. "You have dared to
proclaim yourself an ambassador to me from a country with whom England
is at war. Even a discussion between us amounts almost to treason. On
second thoughts I decline to receive you."

He held out his hand towards the electric bell which stood on his study
table. His visitor shook his head.

"I wouldn't adopt that attitude, if I were you," he said calmly. "You
know why. If you are really curious about my nationality, there is no
harm in telling you that I am an American citizen, that I have held for
three years the post of American chaplain at Brussels. Better let me say
what I have come to say."

Lord Romsey hesitated. His natural propensity for temporising asserted
itself and his finger left the bell. The other continued.

"You are in the unfortunate position, Lord Romsey, of having failed
absolutely in your duty towards your own country, and having grossly and
traitorously deceived a personage who has always treated you with the
greatest kindness. I am here to see if it is possible for you to make
some amends."

"I deny every word you say," the Minister declared passionately, "and I
refuse to hear your proposition."

Mr Sidney's manner suddenly changed. He leaned forward in his chair.

"Do not be foolish," he advised. "Your last letter to a certain
personage was dated June second. I have a copy of it with me. Shall I
read it to you, word by word?"

"Thank you, I remember enough of it," Lord Romsey groaned.

"You will listen, then to what I have to say,"