“Goerwitz goes to a division in reserve.”

“And the army!  The government!  What will they say at such—­such a jump for a colonel?”

“The government leaves all to me from the day war begins.  I shall transfer others than Goerwitz—­others who have had influence with the premier which it was not wise to deny in time of peace.”

“Very well, sir,” answered Lanstron, with a subordinate’s automatic consent to a superior’s orders.  His words sounded ridiculous in view of his feelings, yet they were more expressive than any florid speech.

“You are to be at the right hand of this old body,” continued Partow.  “You are to go with me to the front; to sleep in the room next to mine; to be always at my side, and, finally, you are to promise that if ever the old body fails in its duty to the mind, if ever you see that I am not standing up to the strain, you are to say so to me and I give you my word that I shall let you take charge.”

Lanstron was too stunned to speak for a moment.  The arrangement seemed a hideous joke:  a refinement of cruelty inconceivable.  It was expecting him to tell Atlas that he was old and to take the weight of the world off the giant’s shoulders.

“Have you lost your patriotism?” demanded Partow.  “Are you afraid?  Afraid to tell me the truth?  Afraid of duty?  Afraid in your youth of the burden that I bear in age?”

His fingers closed in on Lanstron’s with such force that the grip was painful.

“Promise!” he commanded.

“I promise!” Lanstron said with a throb.

“That’s it’ That’s the way!  That’s the kind of soldier I like,” Partow declared with change of tone, and he rose from his chair with a spring that was a delight to Lanstron in its proof of the physical vigor so stoutly denied.  “We have a lot to say to each other to-day,” he added; “but first I am going to show you the whole bag of tricks.”

His arm crooked in Lanstron’s, they went along the main corridor of the staff office hung with portraits of generals who had beaten or held their own with the Grays.  Passing through a door for which Partow held the key, they were in a dim, narrow passage with bare walls, lighted by two small gas flames.  At the end was another, a heavy steel door, of the sort associated with the protection of bonds and securities, but in this case for the security of a nation’s defence.  Partow turned the knob of the combination back and forth and with the smooth swing of a great weight on noiseless hinges the door opened and they entered a vault having a single chair and a small table in the centre and lined by sections of numbered pigeonholes, each with a combination lock At the base of one section was a small safe.  It was not the first time that Lanstron had been in this vault.  He had the combination of two of the sections of pigeonholes, aerostatics and intelligence.  The rest belonged to other divisions.

“The safe is my own, as you know.  No one opens it; no one knows what is in it but me,” said Partow, taking from it an envelope and a manuscript, which he laid on the table.  “There you have all that, is in my brain—­the whole plan.  The envelope contains the combinations of all the pigeonholes, if you wish to look up any details.”