All his life Larose had been consumed with a most restless energy, and in all his activities when at Scotland Yard it had been his obsession that he could work best when he worked alone.

So now, with another project forming in his mind, he consulted no one and prepared to adopt a course of action of which he felt sure the authorities, if they came to learn of it, would heartily disapprove. He was intending, too, to take risks which he could ask no one to share.

At a dead-end a little more than a week ago, he had approached Pellew as a fellow member of the criminal classes, and had obtained most gratifying results. Now, at another dead-end, he was intending to approach von Ravenheim and offer his services as assassinator, in place of Pellew, regrettably unavailable.

But he realised to the full that von Ravenheim would be most difficult to approach. Under the shock of Pellew having been uncovered by the dreaded British Secret Service, his nerves might now be on edge and he would be a shy bird to get near. Not knowing what had happened and what, to lighten his punishment, Pellew would admit, he would undoubtedly be wondering if disclosures had been already made as to the complicity of members of the Baltic Embassy.

So he would be suspicious about everything and it would be impossible for any stranger to get a proper hearing with him, unless he could be straight away overwhelmingly convinced of that stranger’s good faith. He would have to be almost bludgeoned into listening to what anyone had to say.

After having parted with Royne, Larose did not go down to Norfolk, as had been his intention, but instead returned straight to London.

Two mornings later he called on Lord Hunkin at Whitehall. The First Lord of the Admiralty received him warmly and with profuse thanks for his services leading up to the arrest of the electrician, Bond, working in the submarine sheds on the Mersey.

“And now, my lord,” smiled Larose, “I want you to trust me and then, perhaps, I may land an even bigger fish in the net. I want some measurements for those inner balance-tanks, which were omitted from the stolen plans. Of course, I don’t want the correct measurements. Make those you give me as misleading as you like. I only want some sort of little plan to use as a decoy.”

Lord Hunkin nodded. “I understand. You want to convey to someone that you are in a position to supply certain very secret and confidential Admiralty information. You want to establish yourself in his confidence.”

“Yes, that’s it!” exclaimed Larose. “Have a little plan drawn up for me to show. Make it a rough one, too, as if it had had to be drawn up in a hurry.”

“Very well,” smiled Lord Hunkin. “Come back in an hour.”

That afternoon Larose paid a second call, to a medical man in Harley Street, Sir Humphrey Vereker, a well-known specialist in diseases of the skin.

Larose was asked if he had an appointment, but, admitting he had not, handed the butler a sealed envelope with the request that it should be given to Sir Humphrey.

He was shown into a waiting-room, where there were two patients waiting, but, to his satisfaction, in a very few minutes he was ushered in before them.

Sir Humphrey gave him a smiling hand-shake. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Larose,” he said. “I met your wife once, when she was Lady Ardane. I am taking you out of your turn, because I see from your card that it is upon private business you want to speak to me.”

“Yes, and it’s very private business, too, Sir Humphrey,” smiled back Larose. His face grew serious. “And it’s very confidential, too, although I can’t explain to you exactly why.” He came straight to the point. “You are attending Herr von Ravenheim, aren’t you? And he’s coming tomorrow at his usual time, I expect, eleven o’clock? Well, I want to be alone with him for five minutes in your waiting room, exactly five minutes, no less and no more. Now would you very obligingly arrange it?”

Sir Humphrey looked frowningly amused. “A very extraordinary request, isn’t it, Mr. Larose?”

“It is, sir,” agreed Larose instantly, “and I would not dare approach you if I were not certain my confidence would be respected. But you have a son who is one of the youngest Commanders in the Navy and another who is in the Fifth Hussars. Also, you yourself served in the Great War. So I feel very sure of you!”

“Oh, I am all right,” laughed Sir Humphrey. “I have as much love for dear old England as anyone; and I pay my taxes regularly.” He made a grimace. “That is, as many as I can’t manage to get out of.”

“Well,” went on Larose, “I’m helping in a little Secret Service enquiry and I want to be brought in contact with the Baltic Ambassador — casually. I want to make his acquaintance, as it were by chance, so that he’ll not have the remotest idea I’ve arranged it.”

Sir Humphrey at once nodded emphatically. “All right, Mr. Larose, I quite understand! And tomorrow you shall have five minutes by the clock with our good-looking friend, Herr von Ravenheim.” He held up his hand warningly. “But you be here well before eleven, for the Herr is always punctual.”

So the next morning Larose was seated in the great specialist’s waiting room when von Ravenheim was ushered in. The Baltic ambassador was immaculately dressed, and of decidedly aristocratic appearance. He had good features, with an oval intellectual face and very alert blue eyes. His expression was a cold and haughty one. He gave one quick, very cursory glance at Larose, and then picked up a magazine off the table and sat down.

“He’s handsome,” thought Larose, “like a very good-looking devil. And he’s callous as a butcher and could be as cruel as hell. He’s beautifully calm and collected now, but I’m going to give him a shock.”

He rose up from his chair and walked near to where von Ravenheim had seated himself. “Excuse me,” he said very quietly, “but you’re Herr von Ravenheim?”

“I am,” said von Ravenheim looking up with an icy stare.

“And I am Nicolas Bent; but you won’t know that name,” went on Larose, speaking now very rapidly and in an intense whisper. “My brother is that Anton Pellew who’s had dealings with you when you were Mr. Menns, and I’ve been helping him in everything. It was I who got those submarine plans for which you paid us ￡2,000. But my brother, as you must have read, has been chopped for passing on parts of an anti-aircraft gun to the Japanese. There was some double-crossing somewhere; and the messenger was stopped with the goods upon him. But my brother denies everything and they’ve got no real evidence against him. He’ll never break down and confess, either. He’s not that sort.”

Larose stopped speaking, as if for want of breath, and a great wave of admiration surged through him for the iron nerve of the Baltic ambassador. Von Ravenheim must, of course, have received a great shock, but he had not turned a hair and his expression was as cool and unruffled as if he had not taken in a word Larose had said. He had regarded him just as disinterestedly as if he had been talking about the weather.

Larose plucked a small, torn piece of paper from his pocket and held it out. “But I’ve got those measurements of the balance tanks you wanted!” he went on eagerly. “I’ve torn the specifications in two, but you can study the part when you get home and then, if you pay me ￡250, I’ll give you the other half.”

Von Ravenheim’s eyes dropped carelessly upon the paper, but then, after they had rested there a few moments, he looked up frowningly. He made no attempt to touch the paper.

“How do you come to be here?” he asked.

“I’ve been following you for three days,” said Larose. “I’ve been trying to catch you when you were alone and would have to listen to me. I knew you’d be suspicious of everyone now. I saw you came here two days running at 11 o’clock, and chanced it you were having treatment and would come a third day. So I’ve made an excuse to see the doctor myself.” He thrust out a bandaged wrist. “I burnt this with mustard and tipped the butler to let me in in the hope that Sir Humphrey would spare me a few minutes sometime during the day.”

Von Ravenheim seemed convinced and took the torn piece Larose was still holding out. He now regarded it more critically. “Where do you live?” he asked after a long moment.

“My address is on the back of the paper,” said Larose. “At least that is where a letter will find me. But it’s only an accommodation address of course. I don’t live there.”

“I asked you where you lived,” said von Ravenheim sternly.

Larose shook his head. “I can’t tell you,” he replied. “I dare not. I am in trouble now with the police, only fortunately they have no description of me. They know my real name, however, so if you write, please use the one I’ve put on the paper.” Then he added eagerly, “I could come to the Embassy any time, but would prefer it to be at night.” He nodded. “If you are willing to pay that ￡250 I should like it to be soon, for now, with my brother being taken, I happen to have been caught very short of money.”

For a long moment Von Ravenheim eyed him with eyes which stabbed like daggers. Then he thrust the paper back.

“I don’t trust you,” he said curtly. “I believe you are lying. You come of a lying family!”

“Lying!” exclaimed Larose scowlingly. “I’m not lying now!” He whipped out a shabby wallet and exposed two half notes in one of the pockets. “Look, except for some loose silver and a few coppers, these are all I’ve got in the world. I want money like hell, and I tell you I’d do anything to get it.” He lowered his voice until it was almost inaudible. “What about that job you were going to give my brother? That ￡10,000 job, I mean! I was going to help him; but now I’d do it on my own for half the money!” He nodded vigorously. “You could trust me! I can hit a sixpence every time at twenty paces! I’m splendid with a gun.”

Von Ravenheim’s face was inscrutable, but he was thinking hard. He did not doubt that this man was Pellew’s brother, and he did not disbelieve, as he had made out, the tale he had been told. But he had hesitated at first, because he had no wish to have any dealings with a weakling and he had wanted to sum up the speaker, first.

Now, however, hearing a bell ring somewhere and then voices in the hall, he made up his mind instantly.

“Quick, give me back that paper,” he said sharply, “and you can call in Portland Place at eleven tonight. Go round to the servants’ entrance and ask for Mr. Schmidt. If you are told he is not in, you will understand I have reconsidered the matter. That is all now, and don’t speak to me any more.”

That night a few minutes before Larose was due for his appointment at the Embassy, von Ravenheim and Herr Blitzen were closeted together in the latter’s private study. Neither of them seemed in good humor. Blitzen was scowling angrily and von Ravenheim’s usual placid face was flushed and frowning.

“But I still think it is not altogether wise for your Excellency to have come here,” said the latter respectfully. “There is not a person here who does not know your features, your voice, and your very walk as well as his own; and you may easily have been recognised, although the discipline I keep in this house would prevent anyone showing it.”

“Nonsense!” retorted Herr Blitzen rudely. “Of course, they will see the likeness but they will all think I am one of my many imagined understudies. But cease talking about it. I am here, and what I have done I have done. That is the end of it.” He turned the conversation. “Now what does it mean that so many of our consuls have been told to leave England?”

“It means, Your Excellency,” said von Ravenheim calmly, “that the British Secret Service has at last wakened up to what they have been doing. Macken, as our consul at Hull, has certainly been of great service to us during the past two years, but he has bungled badly now by having been seen in the company of two of our agents who have just been committed for trial in connection with the recent sabotage at the Lyle Munition Works.”

“The fool!” exclaimed Herr Blitzen angrily. “He couldn’t have taken even the most elementary precautions!”

“Four of our men were rounded up there,” went on von Ravenheim gloomily, “and it is known he was friendly with all of them.” He paused a moment. “Then there’s Blaaberg our consul at Cardiff. Just the same stupidity! Two of our agents, when caught taking photographs of one of the new underground aerodromes, were found trying to escape in his car.”

He looked troubled. “I must admit that the British Secret Service is doing a great deal more than I had ever dreamed of and the state of preparedness, in a way, is disconcerting.”

“But I can’t understand how you have been conducted round everywhere,” said von Ravenheim frowningly. “There is something strange to me about the whole business.”

“There is nothing strange about it,” commented the other sharply. “It is just that everyone was angling for the smiles of two pretty girls! That pompous fool, Lord Michael, has been falling over himself to curry favor with them and he has only used”— he mimicked sneeringly —”‘this gentleman from gallant little Swizerland’ to curry favor with them.”

Von Ravenheim averted his eyes. “Well, I need not warn Your Excellency that the smile of a pretty woman can be a two-edged sword and that the most wary of us need to take care.”

“Bah! You can trust me to look after myself!” exclaimed Herr Blitzen, with such emphasis that it was almost as if he were covering a slight embarrassment. “I admit I am very charmed with them both, especially the elder one. Indeed”— he hesitated —“I am thinking what I am going to do with her.” He spoke defiantly. “I might even take her back with me.”

“An Englishwoman!” murmured von Ravenheim softly. “Our countrymen would welcome her, would they not?”

“They would welcome anybody of whom I approve,” retorted Blitzen sharply. “What I have done for them has made them realise long ago that I am a law unto myself.” He turned the conversation quickly. “Now what are you doing about that matter of Lord Michael and Sir Howard? Have you found a substitute for that fool who got caught with the Japanese?”

“Yes, and he has just come at the right moment,” said von Ravenheim. He smiled. “He is the brother of the fool himself, but he seems a much wiser fool than the other and showed considerable enterprise in the way he got speech with me,” and then he proceeded to relate the happenings of that morning and how Larose was to call at the Embassy that night.

“But I am taking nothing for granted,” he went on, “and shall put him through his paces thoroughly when he arrives. He will be placed in the observation room, too, and four of our men who know every face in Scotland Yard are now on hand, to see if they recognise him.”

“A pity we couldn’t use some of our own people to carry the business through,” commented Herr Blitzen.

“No! no!” came emphatically from von Ravenheim. “The matter is a very risky one and there is always the chance the shooter will get caught himself. I found out only yesterday that the guards on these two men have been doubled. So no one of our nationality must be known to have had a hand”— he smiled —“in any misfortune which should happen to these gentlemen.”

A telephone bell burred softly on his desk and he picked up the receiver. “All right!” he exclaimed. “You know what to do! He will be there a full quarter of an hour!” and he hung up the receiver with a jerk.

He nodded to Herr Blitzen. “That’s the man, Your Excellency. He has come. Would you like to go and view him through the observation holes?”

Herr Blitzen shook his head. “No that’s your work, not mine. You should be a better judge of the mentality of these pigs over here than I am. I don’t want to see him.”

They talked on for some minutes, and then von Ravenheim left the room, Herr Blitzen having intimated that he would await his return.

In the meantime, Larose had been admitted through the servants’ entrance of the Embassy by a closely-cropped bullet-headed attendant and led through many passages and up many flights of back stairs and shown into a small room with no windows.

“Sit zere,” said the man pointing to a big armchair, “and vait,” and he went out and snapped to the door behind him.

Larose looked round with interest. The room was almost bare of furniture, containing only an armchair, a small table in one corner and a desk in another. It was illuminated by a big arc-lamp, so generously shaded, however, that while the lower part of the room was as bright as daylight, the upper part was all in shadow.

“And what the devil is this place used for?” Larose asked himself curiously. “I’ll bet it’s got some special purpose!” He suppressed a start. “Great James, I’m being watched! Most probably someone is giving me a good look over through some peep-hole in the ceiling!” He suppressed a whistle. “Gee, if anyone recognises me, but thank goodness this Baltic crowd were not over here when I was at the Yard!”

He was kept waiting for quite a long time and then the door opened quickly and von Ravenheim himself appeared. “This way!” he said curtly, and Larose followed him along more passages to a large and very sumptuously appointed room.

“Sit down,” said von Ravenheim, “and we’ll continue our conversation of this morning. I am going to ask you a lot of questions and if you hesitate in your replies I shall know you are lying to me. You understand? All right.” Then he snapped out, “You say you are that man’s brother. Well, what was his original occupation?”

Now, being quite unaware as to how much von Ravenheim knew about Pellew, Larose was minded to tell as few untruths as possible. After Pellew’s arrest, the wine-merchant’s fingerprints had been taken and they had been traced back to those of the solicitor, Wakeford Bent, who ten years before had received a term of imprisonment. So Larose now answered truthfully enough. “He was a solicitor once.”

“And he has been in prison?” said von Ravenheim.

“Yes, he appropriated trust money and got five years, ten years ago.”

“And what is your occupation?”

Larose shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, I’ve been everything.” He grinned. “I’m another black sheep of the family. First I was in a bank, then I was shipped to Australia and knocked about there for eight years mostly on sheep stations. Then ——”

“How far is Sydney from Brisbane?” interrupted von Ravenheim.

Larose opened his eyes very wide, as if surprised at the strangeness of the question, but he answered promptly. “Somewhere about five hundred miles, rather under than over, if I remember rightly.”

“And what weight in wool do you get off a sheep in a year?” was the next question, rapped out equally as sharply.

Larose smiled now. “Say about ten to eleven pounds or a little more in an ordinary sheep but, of course, in a stud ewe ——”

“That’ll do,” said von Ravenheim. “Go on with your history.”

“Then two years ago I came back,” said Larose, “and have picked up a living as best I can. I’ve been in a restaurant as assistant to a chef and ——”

“What’s Tartare Sauce made of?” asked von Ravenheim.

“Yolk of eggs, olive oil, Tarragon vinegar, mustard and pepper,” rattled off Larose, grinning.

“Go on, what else have you been?”

“Bookmaker’s clerk, racing tipster, waiter in a night club and”— Larose grinned again here —“helping my brother.”

“Have you got any references?”

Larose seemed surprised again.

“Great James, no! I’ve generally had to clear out quick and lively! I don’t remember ever having had a reference in my whole life.”

“Well, how much of that ￡2,000 your brother received for those plans did he pay you?”

“￡200. I acted as the go-between, so that he couldn’t be caught in any case.”

“Then where’s that money?”

Larose sighed heavily. “Lost it at two meetings at Sandown Park. I went nap on Bully Boy and Son of Fox and they were both pulled. I didn’t have a run for my money.”

“Did you help your brother to get Lady Bowery’s tiara at the Rialto or those emeralds from Clavering Court?”

Larose whistled in genuine surprise now. He had, of course, read of the robberies, but it was news to him that the precious stones he had seen Pellew handling were the proceeds of them. “Gosh!” he exclaimed, “what you know!” he nodded. “Yes, I was driving his car when............