"'And the early-Victorian waistcoat,' I said, 'which the clumsy fellow who renovated this bust always stuffed into the Leonardos which he was called upon to botch—you still have that?"

   "'Oh no,' replied the enthusiast hastily, 'we threw that away. Why keep that? But you can understand," he continued, "why we have taken all the precautions we have? Whatever else might be lost in any attack on Berlin—should one be within the bounds of possibility—this must be saved.'

   "'Not only must,' I replied, but will be saved. I feel certain that your plans have been sufficient. England, whatever else she may take from Berlin, will leave this bust with you.'

   "He wrung my hand. 'You hearten me,' he said. 'But now for the return journey;' and again the bandage was applied."

   This is from

    The Bahia Blanca Times

   (the only foreign paper we take in), and shows how the news gets about.

     "Germany and Holland ... are neighbours of ethnological affinity and united by numerous commercial and intellectual bombs."

   Even the bombs in Germany are cultured.

   "Excuse me, but can you tell me which is Hunter Street?" said the tall pleasant-looking man with the slightly foreign aspect.

   "Hunter Street," I said, waving a vague hand, "lies over there. It is," I continued, fixing him with a stern look, "for constabulary purposes a chapel-of-ease to Bow Street."

   He did not seem in the least perturbed.

   "Ah!" he said, "a special constable, I suppose?"

   I was only going on duty—theoretically I am never off duty—but I am missing no chances.

   "Yes," I said, "I am. Do you mind telling me, quite between ourselves, you know, whether you are a German spy?"

   He smiled slightly.

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