lover's hesitating reply. "And I've just remembered something."
"Oh! business. And that's all?"
"Yes, business, dearest," was his reply. "I must apologise if my thoughts were, for the moment, far away," he laughed.
"You're like father," said the girl. "He sits by the fire sometimes for a quarter of an hour at a stretch staring into it, and thinking of his horrid business affairs. But of course business is an obsession with him."
"Perhaps when I'm your father's age it will be an obsession with me," replied Jack Sainsbury.
"I sincerely hope it won't," she said, with a smile upon her pretty lips.
"It won't, if I'm able to make sufficient money to keep you properly, darling," was the young man's fervent answer, as he bent until his moustache lightly brushed her cheek.
Truth to tell, he was reflecting seriously. For hours he had thought over those strange words he had overheard on entering the boardroom that afternoon.
Those astounding words of Lewin Rodwell's were, in themselves, an admission--a grave and terrible admission.
Lewin Rodwell and Sir Boyle Huntley were engaged in a great conspiracy, and he--Jack Sainsbury--was the only person who knew the ghastly truth.
Those two highly patriotic men, whose praises were being sung by every newspaper up and down the country; whose charitable efforts had brought in hundreds of thousands of pounds and hundreds of tons of comforts for our troops abroad; the two men whose photographs were in every journal, and whom the world regarded as fine typical specimens of the honest Briton, men who had raised their voices loudly against German barbarism and intrigue, were, Jack Sainsbury knew, wearing impenetrable masks. They were traitors!
He alone knew the truth--a truth so remarkable and startling that, were it told and published to the world, Great Britain would stand aghast and bewildered at the revelation. It was inconceivable, incredible. At times he felt himself doubting what he had really heard with his own ears. Yet it had been Rodwell's voice, and the words had been clear and distinct, a confession of guilt that was as plain as it was damning.
Sir Boyle had, from his seat in the House of Commons, risen time after time and denounced the policy of the Government in not interning every enemy alien in the country; he had heckled the Home Secretary, and had exposed cases of German intrigue; he had demanded that rigorous action should be taken against the horde of German spies in our midst, and had spoken up and down the country warning the Government and the people of the gravity of the spy-peril, and that British citizens would take the law in their own hands if drastic measures were not taken to crush out the enemy in our midst.
Yet that afternoon--by no seeking of his own--Jack Sainsbury had learnt a truth which, 

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