“As you stooped to sit down just now, I distinctly saw the shape of your revolver in your hip pocket.  You know as well as I do that with your name and the fact that you are only a naturalised Englishman, it is inexcusably foolish to be carrying firearms about just now.”

Seaman thrust his hand into his pocket and threw the revolver upon the table.

“You are quite right,” he acknowledged.  “Take care of it for me.  I took it with me to Ireland, because one never knows what may happen in that amazing country.”

Dominey swept it carelessly into the drawer of the desk at which he was sitting.

“Our weapons, from now on,” Seaman continued, “must be the weapons of guile and craft.  You and I will have, alas! to see less of one another, Dominey.  In many ways it is unfortunate that we have not been able to keep England out of this for a few more months.  However, the situation must be dealt with as it exists.  So far as you are concerned you have practically secured yourself against suspicion.  You will hold a brilliant and isolated place amongst those who are serving the great War Lord.  When I do approach you, it will be for sympathy and assistance against the suspicions of those far-seeing Englishmen!”

Dominey nodded.

“You will stay the night?” he asked.

“If I may,” Seaman assented.  “It is the last time for many months when it will be wise for us to meet on such intimate terms.  Perhaps our dear friend Parkins will take vinous note of the occasion.”

“In other words,” Dominey said, “you propose that we shall drink the Dominey cabinet hock and the Dominey port to the glory of our country.”

“To the glory of our country,” Seaman echoed.  “So be it, my friend.—­Listen.”

A car had passed along the avenue in front of the house.  There was the sound of voices in the hall, a knock at the door, the rustle of a woman’s clothes.  Parkins, a little disturbed, announced the arrivals.

“The Princess of Eiderstrom and—­a gentleman.  The Princess said that her errand with you was urgent, sir,” he added, turning apologetically towards his master.

The Princess was already in the room, and following her a short man in a suit of sombre black, wearing a white tie, and carrying a black bowler hat.  He blinked across the room through his thick glasses, and Dominey knew that the end had come.  The door was closed behind them.  The Princess came a little further into the room.  Her hand was extended towards Dominey, but not in greeting.  Her white finger pointed straight at him.  She turned to her companion.

“Which is that, Doctor Schmidt?” she demanded.

“The Englishman, by God!” Schmidt answered.

The silence which reigned for several seconds was intense and profound.  The coolest of all four was perhaps Dominey.  The Princess was pale with a passion which seemed to sob behind her words.

“Everard Dominey,” she cried, “what have you done with my lover?  What have you done with Leopold Von Ragastein?”