“Of course,” said Yeovil, “and I suppose, as a matter of fact, a good many of your clients belong to the conquering race.”

“Well, you see, they are the people who have got the money,” said Herlton; “I don’t mean to say that the invading Germans are usually people of wealth, but while they live over here they escape the crushing taxation that falls on the British-born subject.  They serve their country as soldiers, and we have to serve it in garrison money, ship money and so forth, besides the ordinary taxes of the State.  The German shoulders the rifle, the Englishman has to shoulder everything else.  That is what will help more than anything towards the gradual Germanising of our big towns; the comparatively lightly-taxed German workman over here will have a much bigger spending power and purchasing power than his heavily taxed English neighbour.  The public-houses, bars, eating-houses, places of amusement and so forth, will come to cater more and more for money-yielding German patronage.  The stream of British emigration will swell rather than diminish, and the stream of Teuton immigration will be equally persistent and progressive.  Yes, the military-service ordinance was a cunning stroke on the part of that old fox, von Kwarl.  As a civilian statesman he is far and away cleverer than Bismarck was; he smothers with a feather-bed where Bismarck would have tried to smash with a sledge-hammer.”

“Have you got me down on your list of noteworthy people?” asked Yeovil, turning the drift of the conversation back to the personal topic.

“Certainly I have,” said Herlton, turning the pages of his pocket directory to the letter Y.  “As soon as I knew you were back in England I made several entries concerning you.  In the first place it was possible that you might have a volume on Siberian travel and natural history notes to publish, and I’ve cross-referenced you to a publisher I know who rather wants books of that sort on his list.”

“I may tell you at once that I’ve no intentions in that direction,” said Yeovil, in some amusement.

“Just as well,” said Herlton cheerfully, scribbling a hieroglyphic in his book; “that branch of business is rather outside my line—­too little in it, and the gratitude of author and publisher for being introduced to one another is usually short-lived.  A more serious entry was the item that if you were wintering in England you would be looking out for a hunter or two.  You used to hunt with the East Wessex, I remember; I’ve got just the very animal that will suit that country, ready waiting for you.  A beautiful clean jumper.  I’ve put it over a fence or two myself, and you and I ride much the same weight.  A stiffish price is being asked for it, but I’ve got the letters D.O. after your name.”

“In Heaven’s name,” said Yeovil, now openly grinning, “before I die of curiosity tell me what D.O. stands for.”