inspectors.

It was to receive the report of the latter that Captain Mostyn had gone to town. At 8.50 Peter met his father at Trentham Regis station.

"Why, Pater," exclaimed Peter, as his sire alighted, "what have you been doing—whitewashing?"

Captain Mostyn glanced at his shoulder. His coat was speckled with white dust.

"Oh, that," he replied carelessly. "I suppose it was when some fellow working above the board-room fell through the ceiling. He wasn't hurt, only a bit scared. I'll tell you all about it later. What's more to the point, Peter, the steelwork's passed the test with flying colours, and we're shipping it on Saturday on the S.S. West Barbican."

"My new ship," announced Peter.

CHAPTER II

The Eavesdropper

Ludwig Schoeffer, London agent for the Pfieldorf Company of Chemnitz, was feeling at the very top of his form. He was carrying out his instructions in a manner that bid fair to be highly satisfactory both to his employers and himself, and unless untoward events disturbed the even tenor of his investigations he stood to win the sum of two hundred pounds before the day was out.

The Pfieldorf Company were both surprised and angry when the news came that their tender for work for the Kilba Protectorate had been "turned down". Their Teutonic mentality could not account for the fact that a tender considerably higher than theirs had been accepted. The war was over: why, then, should a good, old German firm be slighted and practically debarred from securing a contract that would advance the commercial prestige of the Fatherland?

At an extraordinary meeting of the directors Herr Bohme, chairman of the company, proposed a somewhat startling scheme. He suggested that the steelwork should be put in hand immediately, according to the specification of the Kilba Protectorate Government. In any case, the bridge, being of a useful design, would find a ready purchaser in one of the South American republics, or perhaps in certain parts of Africa where there was no British prejudice against German goods. The mere fact that they were picking another man's brains by copying the Protectorate's civil engineer's designs hardly entered into Herr Bohme's calculations.

"And now I come to an important proposition," continued the chairman. "It is for us to do our best to prevent this British Brocklington Ironworks Company from carrying out their contract. Somehow—how, I do not know yet—somehow that firm must be compelled to fail in their undertaking. At the critical juncture the Kilba Protectorate will be without their most important bridge, and we can well imagine the effect that will have upon the country. That is where we step in. We can offer a similar structure, complete, and in every way conformable to specification, for the sum of twenty million marks, which is ten thousand pounds more than our original tender, free on board at Hamburg. To save the situation the Protectorate Government will jump at our offer."

"But how can we prevent——?" began one of the directors.

Von Bohme winked ponderously.

"There are ways and means, von Kessler," he interrupted. "These English fondly imagine that, now the war is over, there is no need for our admirable secret service. As you know, that organization still exists most healthily; only, instead of being the Imperial, it is now the German Commercial Secret Service."

Herr von Bohme had occasion to be vindictive towards everyone and everything British. A violent Junker, he had supported the ex-Kaiser's war policy with all his might and main, never doubting, until it was too late, of the rapid and triumphant success of the German arms. At the Armistice he had been compelled to surrender eight of his largest merchant vessels to the Allies. That practically smashed up the shipping business of which Herr Bohme was managing director. There remained the Pfieldorf Company, the activities of which bid fair to more than recoup the directors and shareholders for the loss of their mercantile marine. But von Bohme never forgot. Behind his keen business capabilities lurked the spirit of vindictiveness towards the Power that had taken so large a part in the smashing of the German Empire.

Without loss of time von Bohme telegraphed to Ludwig Schoeffer, and twenty-four hours later Ludwig presented himself at von Bohme's house in the Platz Alice at Chemnitz.

Schoeffer, although only twenty-seven years of age, had had an adventurous career. He was one of the very few German spies in England who had eluded the skilfully drawn toils of Sir Basil Thomson. At the outbreak of hostilities the spy was actually holding a British Admiralty position in Whitehall, and during the next two years he was busily serving two rival Governments at Portsmouth, Chatham, and Rosyth. At the latter place a very simple slip nearly "gave him away", and he quickly transferred his activities to the United States. There he specialized in "deferred action bombs"; ingenious contrivances detonated electrically by means of clockwork. Many a good ship owed her destruction to Ludwig Schoeffer's cunning; and, even after the cessation of hostilities, he remained in New York with the object of wrecking the ex-German vessels surrendered under the terms of the Armistice. But at last the spy was caught through the 'cuteness of a Hoboken policeman. Arrested, he was tried, found guilty, and sent for a life-sentence to Sing Sing. Three weeks later he created a record by breaking out of that grim penitentiary, and succeeded in making his way back to Germany, via San Francisco, Sydney, and Colombo.

There was nothing about Ludwig Schoeffer's appearance to betray his nationality. He might, and frequently did, pass for an Englishman, while his command of English defied detection. He was of medium height and build, dark-haired and sallow-featured. There was nothing of Teutonic stolidity about his movements. On the other hand, he walked with the elasticity and easy carriage of an Anglo-Saxon athlete.

Von Bohme received his visitor in his study, drew a thick curtain over the door, and came to the point at once.

"I want you to proceed to England, Schoeffer," he began. "Usual terms—payment by results with immediate advance to meet current expenses. You know Brocklington?"

"I was there in May and June, 1915, Herr Bohme."

"Good; but I fancy you don't know the Brocklington Ironworks."

The spy considered a few moments. To admit that he did not might be a confession of lack of local knowledge. To say that he did when he was not sure of the fact was to lay himself open to being discredited. Then he considered that perhaps his employer was trying to catch him out.

"I saw no ironworks there," he said at length.

Von Bohme grunted in satisfaction.

"For the very good reason that they came only into existence since the war. Now, read this and commit the salient facts to memory."

Von Bohme handed his caller a dossier containing the papers dealing with the Kilba Protectorate contract. There were eleven pages of closely lined typescript with marginal notes in von Bohme's own handwriting.

"You've grasped the important points? Good! Now, this is your task. Go to Brocklington, find out and report to me on the progress of the work. When necessary, shadow the directors of the Company in London. Their offices are in Chilbolton Row, off St. Mary Axe. Use every means at your disposal to hinder the work, since at all costs that steelwork must not arrive at Kilba. You understand?"

Thirty-six hours later Ludwig Schoeffer arrived at Brocklington. In the guise of a mechanic he presented himself at the works foreman's office, having previously taken the precaution of registering under the name of James Sylvester at the local Labour Exchange.

Already the contract was well in hand. Additional workmen were being taken on, and the mere fact that Jim Sylvester was a skilled riveter recommended