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cracksman thoroughly experienced in his job, and he opened the safes. Whoever the men are, they are undoubtedly past masters in the art of impersonation. It is going to be a difficult job to run them to earth, but we have what might turn out to be a clue to their whereabouts. Now that I have discovered that you two gentlemen were impersonated, and the manner in which the copies of the plans were made, I must beg you to excuse me.’
    The Air-Marshal was still sceptical, but General Warrington was undoubtedly convinced. Both strove to detain Cousins, desiring to ask innumerable questions. However, firmly, butpolitely, he insisted on leaving; was driven to the Foreign Office, where he obtained permission to inspect the letter received from the mysterious individual who had offered to sell French and German secrets to Britain. He made a careful examination of the type-script, the texture of the paper, and the watermark. Eventually satisfied, he returned to his flat in Lancaster Gate.
    He had a bath and a hasty meal, after which he spent some time ransacking a wardrobe, at length bringing to flight the uniform of a naval gunner. This he donned as though enjoying the experience. It was obviously not the first time he had worn the garb. Only after considering the matter deeply had he decided to adopt a disguise. People who had proved themselves so complete and clever in the impersonations of an air-marshal and a general were likely to be no mean opponents, and it behoved him to be careful. He wished to be as inconspicuous as possible, and nothing, in his opinion, would attract less attention in a naval port than a naval uniform.
    His preparations completed, he took a taxi to Victoria, arriving there in time to catch a fast train to Sittingbourne, where he had to change for Sheerness. With several naval ratings he was crossing the platform towards the waiting local when his attention became riveted on a tall, broad-shouldered man standing under a lamp. Involuntarily he pulled up, whistling softly to himself. There was no mistaking the clear-cut features, determined chin, and powerful form of Captain Hugh Shannon, the strong man of the Secret Service. What surprised Cousins was to find him in Sittingbourne railway station when he was supposed to be in Italy. The little man wondered if by any chance he were on the same errand as himself. It was quite possible that Shannon had returned from Italy that afternoon, reported at headquarters, and been sent down to make independent investigations in the neighbourhood. On the otherhand he may have been deputed on some totally different mission. In any case it was a moot point whether he desired to be recognised, though the very fact that he was on the platform at Sittingbourne suggested that he was waiting for someone, perhaps Cousins himself. The latter decided to walk by him once or twice, thus showing himself. If Shannon did not desire to be recognised, he would make no sign, and Cousins would go on to his destination without further delay.
    Having come to this decision the little man sauntered along the platform, passing close to Shannon; stood for a moment looking up at a notice board so that the halo of light thrown from a lamp would illuminate his features; then walked back. This time, as he approached his colleague, he looked directly at him to find the other’s eyes fixed intently on him. He gave an almost imperceptible wink which was immediately answered. The broad-shouldered man stepped cautiously towards him, glanced up and down the platform, and bent down ostensibly to fasten a shoe lace.
    ‘What did Major Brien say?’ he asked softly.
    Cousins felt a trifle puzzled.
    ‘About what?’ he murmured.
    ‘It’s obvious,’ returned the other, still engaged with his bootlace, ‘that you haven’t seen him since I returned from Italy. Well, listen! I’m down here on the same job as you, and I’ve a lot to tell you. We can’t speak here, and it isn’t wise to be seen together