Now they've accounted for him, we've scarcely a chance of getting at the truth." Mr.Simpson was gloomily silent for some moments.

He was thinking of the time when he had struck his pencil through a recent Secret Service estimate.
"Anyhow," Hunterleys went on, "it will be all over in twenty-four hours.
Something will be decided upon--what, I am afraid there is very little chance of our getting to know.

These men will separate--Grex to St.
Petersburg, Selingman to Berlin, Douaille to Paris.

Then I think we shall begin to hear the mutterings of the storm." "I think," Mr.Simpson intervened, his eyes fixed upon an approaching figure, "that there is a young lady talking to the maitre d'hotel, who is trying to attract your attention." Hunterleys turned around in his chair.

It was Felicia who was making her way towards him.