“And the Antwerp forts?”

The other pursed his lips.

“Pooh!  Was it not the glorious firm of Krupp who fitted the guns there?  Do you think the men who undertook that task were idle?  I tell you that our plans of the Antwerp fortifications are more carefully worked out in detail than the plans held by the Belgians themselves.  Here is good work for you to do, friend Meyer.  That and the particulars from Brussels which you know of, will keep you busy until we meet again.”

Herr Selingman began to collect his papers, but was suddenly thrown back into his seat by the rocking of the train, which came, a few moments later, to a standstill.  The sound of the opening of windows from the other side of the corridor was heard all down the train.  Selingman and his companion followed the general example, opening the door of the carriage and the window opposite.  A draught blew through the compartment.  One of the small folded slips of paper from Selingman’s pocket-book fluttered along the seat.  It came within reach of Norgate.  Cautiously he stretched out his fingers and gripped it.  In a moment it was in his pocket.  He sat up in his place.  Selingman had turned around.

“Anything the matter?” Norgate asked sleepily.

“Not that one can gather,” Selingman replied.  “You have slept well.  I am glad that our conversation has not disturbed you.  This is my agent from Brussels—­Mr. Meyer.  He sells our crockery in that city—­not so much as he should sell, perhaps, but still he does his best.”

Mr. Meyer was a dark little man who wore gold-rimmed spectacles, neat clothes, and a timid smile.  Norgate nodded to him good-humouredly.

“You should get Herr Selingman to come oftener and help you,” he remarked, yawning.  “I can imagine that he would be able to sell anything he tried to.”

“It is what I often tell him, sir,” Mr. Meyer replied, “but he is too fond of the English trade.”

“English money is no better than Belgian,” Herr Selingman declared, “but there is more of it.  Let us go round to the restaurant car and drink a bottle of wine together while the beds are prepared.”

“Certainly,” Norgate assented, stretching himself.  “By-the-by, you had better look after your papers there, Herr Selingman.  Just as I woke up I saw a small slip fluttering along the seat.  You made a most infernal draught by opening that door, and I almost fancy it went out of the window.”

Herr Selingman’s face became suddenly grave.  He went through the papers one by one, and finally locked them up in his bag.

“Nothing missing, I hope?” Norgate asked.

Herr Selingman’s face was troubled.

“I am not sure,” he said.  “It is my belief that I had with me here a list of my agents in England.  I cannot find it.  In a sense it is unimportant, yet if a rival firm should obtain possession of it, there might be trouble.”

Norgate looked out into the night and smiled.