“Who are these men, Conrad?” she asked, turning to Wachtmann.

“Gentlemen of the press, I believe, to see your father, Yvonne,” replied the count.

It was evident that it had not been mere newspaper talk about this latest rumored international engagement.

“How did you enjoy it?” he asked, noticing the title of a history which she had come to replace in the library.

“Very well—­all but the assassinations and the intrigues,” she replied with a little shudder.

He shot a quick, searching look at her face.  “They are a violent people—­some of them,” he commented quickly.

“You are going into town to-morrow?” I heard him ask Miss Brixton, as they walked slowly down the wide hall to the conservatory a few moments later.

“What do you think of him?” I whispered to Kennedy.

I suppose my native distrust of his kind showed through, for Craig merely shrugged his shoulders.  Before he could reply Mr. Brixton joined us.

“There’s another one—­just came,” he ejaculated, throwing a letter down on the library table.  It was only a few lines this time: 

“The bonds will not be subject to a tax by the government, they say.  No—­because if there is a war there won’t be any government to tax them!”

The note did not appear to interest Kennedy as much as what he had discovered.  “One thing is self-evident, Mr. Brixton,” he remarked.  “Some one inside this house is spying, is in constant communication with a person or persons outside.  All the watchmen and Great Danes on the estate are of no avail against the subtle, underground connection that I believe exists.  It is still early in the afternoon.  I shall make a hasty trip to New York and return after dinner.  I should like to watch with you in the den this evening.”

“Very well,” agreed Brixton.  “I shall arrange to have you met at the station and brought here as secretly as I can.”

He sighed, as if admitting that he was no longer master of even his own house.

Kennedy was silent during most of our return trip to New York.  As for myself, I was deeply mired in an attempt to fathom Wachtmann.  He baffled me.  However, I felt that if there was indeed some subtle, underground connection between some one inside and someone outside Brixton’s house, Craig would prepare an equally subtle method of meeting it on his own account.  Very little was said by either of us on the journey up to the laboratory, or on the return to Woodrock.  I realised that there was very little excuse for a commuter not to be well informed.  I, at least, had plenty of time to exhaust the newspapers I had bought.

Whether or not we returned without being observed, I did not know, but at least we did find that the basement and dark storeroom were deserted, as we cautiously made our way again it to the corner where Craig had made his enigmatical discoveries of the afternoon.