“I expect the others will find their way here in a few minutes,” he said, as the door closed behind Brookes and his satellite.  “You had something to say to me, Chalmers, about Mr. Jesson here.”

“All that I have to say is in the nature of a testimonial,” the young American replied.  “Jesson was easily one of our best men in Europe.  He resigned a few months ago simply because he wants a job with you fellows.”

“I don’t quite understand,” Nigel began.

“Let me explain,” Jesson begged.  “I spent the last three years poking about Europe, and so far as the United States is concerned, there’s nothing doing.  My reports aren’t worth much more than the paper they are written on, and while I’m drawing my money from Washington, it’s not my business to collect information that affects other countries.  That’s why I’ve sent in my resignation.  There are great events brewing eastwards, Lord Dorminster, and I want to take a hand in the game.”

“Do you want to work for us?” Nigel asked.

“You’re right,” was the quiet reply.  “I guess that’s how I’ve figured it out.  You see, I’m one of those Americans who still consider themselves half English.  Next to the United States, Great Britain is the country for me.  I know what I’m talking about, Lord Dorminster, and I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s a lot of trouble in store for you people.”

“I’m pretty well convinced of that myself,” Nigel agreed, “but you know how things are with us.  We have a democratic Government who have placed their whole faith in the League of Nations, and who are absolutely and entirely anti-militarist.  On paper, the governments of Russia, Germany, and most of the other countries of Europe, are of the same ilk.  Some of us—­my uncle was one—­who have studied history and who know something of the science of international politics, realise perfectly well that no Empire can be considered secure under such conditions.  This country swarms with foreign secret-service men.  What they are planning against us, Heaven knows!”

“Heaven and Naida Karetsky,” Chalmers intervened softly.

“You believe that she is our enemy?” Nigel asked, with a look of trouble in his eyes.

“She is Immelan’s friend,” Chalmers reminded him.

“There was a man named Atcheson,” Jesson began quietly—­

Nigel nodded.

“He was one of the men my uncle sent out.  The first one was stabbed in Petrograd.  Jim Atcheson was poisoned and died in Berlin.”

“There was rather a scare in a certain quarter about Atcheson,” Jesson observed.  “He was supposed to have got a report through to the late Lord Dorminster.”

“He got it through all right,” Nigel replied.  “My uncle was busy decoding it, seated in this room, at that table, when he died.”

“His death was very sudden,” Jesson ventured.

“I have not the faintest doubt but that he was murdered,” Nigel declared.  “The document upon which he was working disappeared entirely except for one sheet.”