room, so distinctly did he overhear each word of their

Desmond, who was now quite out of his depth, wagged his head solemnly at the other as though to indicate that, his occult powers were something not to be lightly mentioned. He had no fear of the tall man, at any rate. He placed him as a very ordinary German, a common type in the Fatherland, simple-minded, pedantic, inquisitive,, and a prodigious bore withal but dangerous, for of this stuff German discipline kneads militarists.

But the door opened again to admit the last of the guests. A woman entered. Desmond was immediately struck by the contrast she presented to the others, Mortimer with his goggle eyes and untidy hair, Max, gross and bestial, Behrend, Oriental and shifty, and the scarecrow figure of the tall man.

Despite her age, which must have been nearly sixty, she still retained traces of beauty. Her features were very regular, and she had a pair of piercing black eyes of undimmed brightness. Her gray hair was tastefully arranged, and she wore a becoming black velvet gown with a black lace scarf thrown across the shoulders. A white silk rose was fastened to her bodice by a large black pin with a glass head.

Directly she appeared, the tall man shouted to her in German.

Mortimer turned on him savagely.

"Hold your tongue, No. 13," he cried, "are you mad? What the devil do you mean by it? You know the rules!"

By way of reply, "No. 13" broke into a regular frenzy of coughing which left him gasping for breath.

"Pardon! I haf' forgot!" he wheezed out between the spasms.