And what will England do?
Ride safe in the calm centre of the hurricane?
No ship ever did, and England won't.
A few degenerate ones threw up their hands and cried that all was over--_they knew_.
Of these a gaunt-visaged man, stubborn and stupid and two generations back a German, held forth in the hall of Hillyard's club.
"German organisation, German thoroughness and German brains--we are no match for them.

The country's thick with spies--wonderful men.

Where shall _we_ find their equals ?" A sailor slipped across the hall and dropped into a chair by Hillyard's side.
"You take no part in these discussions?
The crackling of thorns--what ?" "I have been a long time away." "Thought so," continued the sailor.

"A man was inquiring for you yesterday--a man of the name of Graham." Hillyard shook his head.
"I don't know him." "No, but he is a friend of a friend of yours." Hillyard sat up in his chair.

He had been four days in London, and the engrossing menace of those days had quite thrust from his recollections the telegram which had, as he thought, befooled him.
"The friend of mine is possibly Paul Bendish," he said stiffly.
"Think that was the name.