to the greatest power which the world had as yet known must certainly seem, on paper, to be as brilliant a post as a man’s ambition could covet.  Many years ago it had seemed so to Bransome himself.  It was a post which he had deliberately coveted, worked for, and strived for.  And now, when in sight of the end, with two years of office only to run, he was appalled at the ever-growing responsibilities thrust upon his shoulders.  There was never, perhaps, a time when, on paper, things had seemed smoother, when the distant mutterings of disaster were less audible.  It was only those who were behind the curtain who realized how deceptive appearances were.

In a few minutes his secretary reappeared, ushering in Mr. James B. Coulson.  Mr. Coulson was still a little pale from the effects of his crossing, and he wore a long, thick ulster to conceal the deficiencies of his attire.  Nevertheless his usual breeziness of manner had not altogether deserted him.  Sir Edward looked him up and down, and finding him look exactly as Mr. James B. Coulson of the Coulson & Bruce Syndicate should look, was inclined to wonder whether his secretary had made a mistake.

“I was told that you wished to see me,” he said.  “I am Sir Edward Bransome.”

Mr. James B. Coulson nodded appreciatively.

“Very good of you, Sir Edward,” he said, “to put yourself out at this time of night to have a word or two with me.  I am sorry to have troubled you, anyway, but the matter was sort of urgent.”

Sir Edward bent his head.

“I understand, Mr. Coulson,” he said, “that you come from the United States.”

“That is so, sir,” Mr. Coulson replied.  “I am at the head of a syndicate, the Coulson & Bruce Syndicate, which in course of time hope to revolutionize the machinery used for spinning wool all over the world.  Likewise we have patents for other machinery connected with the manufacture of all varieties of woollen goods.  I am over here on a business trip, which I have just concluded.”

“Satisfactorily, I trust?” Sir Edward remarked.

“Well, I’m not grumbling, sir,” Mr. Coulson assented.  “Here and there I may have missed a thing, and the old fashioned way of doing business on this side bothers me a bit, but on the whole I’m not grumbling.”

Bransome bowed.  Perhaps, after all, the man was not a fool!

“I have a good many friends round about Washington,” Mr. Coulson continued, “and sometimes, when they know I am coming across, one or the other of them finds it convenient to hand me a letter.  It isn’t the postage stamp that worries them,” he added with a little laugh, “but they sort of feel that anything committed to me is fairly safe to reach its right destination.”

“Without disputing that fact for one moment, Mr. Coulson,” Sir Edward remarked, “I might also suggest that the ordinary mail service between our countries has reached a marvellous degree of perfection.”