“I admit it, Hebblethwaite,” Wyatt interrupted quickly.  “Of course, if this comes out, my resignation’s ready for you, but I tell you frankly, as man to man, I can’t go on with my job, and I won’t, unless I get the ships voted that I need.  We are behind our standard now.  I spent twenty-four hours making up my mind whether I should resign or take this risk.  I came to the conclusion that I should serve my country better by taking the risk.  So there you are.  What are you going to do about it?”

“What the mischief can I do about it?” Hebblethwaite demanded irritably.  “You are putting me in an impossible position.  Let me ask you this, Wyatt.  Is there anything at the back of your head that the man in the street doesn’t know about?”

“Yes!”

“What is it, then?”

“I have reasons to believe,” Wyatt announced deliberately, “reasons which are quite sufficient for me, although it was impossible for me to get up in Parliament and state them, that Germany is secretly making preparations for war either before the end of this year or the beginning of next.”

Hebblethwaite threw himself into an easy-chair.

“Sit down, Wyatt,” he said.  “Your dinner can wait for a few minutes.  I have had another man—­only a youngster, and he doesn’t know anything—­talking to me like that.  We are fully acquainted with everything that is going on behind the scenes.  All our negotiations with Germany are at this moment upon the most friendly footing.  We haven’t a single matter in dispute.  Old Busby, as you know, has been over in Berlin himself and has come back a confirmed pacifist.  If he had his way, our army would practically cease to exist.  He has been on the spot.  He ought to know, and the army’s his job.”

“Busby,” Wyatt declared, “is the silliest old ass who ever escaped petticoats by the mere accident of sex.  I tell you he is just the sort of idiot the Germans have been longing to get hold of and twist round their fingers.  Before twelve months or two years have passed, you’ll curse the name of that man, when you look at the mess he has made of the army.  Peace is all very well—­universal peace.  The only way we can secure it is by being a good deal stronger than we are at present.”

“That is your point of view,” Hebblethwaite reminded him.  “I tell you frankly that I incline towards Busby’s.”

“Then you’ll eat your words,” Wyatt asserted, “before many months are out.  I, too, have been in Germany lately, although I was careful to go as a tourist, and I have picked up a little information.  I tell you it isn’t for nothing that Germany has a complete list of the whole of her rolling stock, the actual numbers in each compartment registered and reserved for the use of certain units of her troops.  I tell you that from one end of the country to the other her state of military preparedness is amazing.  She has but to press a button, and a million men have their rifles in their hands, their knapsacks on their backs, and each regiment knows exactly at which station and by what train to embark.  She is making Zeppelins night and day, training her men till they drop with exhaustion.  Krupp’s works are guarded by double lines of sentries.  There are secrets there which no one can penetrate.  And all the time she is building ships feverishly.  Look here—­you know my cousin, Lady Emily Fakenham?”