carefully to the details of the organisation which Jules and Yvette had set up in Langengrad, and he marvelled greatly at the extent and thoroughness of the work which had been done in so short a time.

A few days later Dick and Yvette, under the names of Monsieur and Mademoiselle Victor, sister and brother, crossed the German frontier in the Mohawk in the guise of tourists motoring through Germany and Austria-Hungary to Galdavia. Their passports, prepared by the French Secret Service and bearing all the necessary visas, got them through without the smallest difficulty. Speaking French really well, Dick had no doubt that, outside France at any rate, he could safely pass for a young French officer. Jules had remained behind to carry out his share of the campaign.

Dick drove steadily via Stuttgart and Munich to Salzburg, where he loaded up the Mohawk with all the petrol she could carry for the last stage of the journey. From Salzburg he proposed to fly across the mountains to Klagenfurt, where he hoped to pick up the line of the Drave River and follow it to its confluence with the Danube. From there a brief trip by road would bring them to the borders of Galdavia.

It was a lovely autumn evening when the queer-looking motor-car left the “Bristol Hotel” at Salzburg and slid along the road to Radstadt, the “winter sport” resort. Very soon a sufficiently lonely spot was reached and from a smooth patch of moorland turf the Mohawk rose into the air just as the full moon was rising above the great mountains. The engine was working splendidly and the Mohawk climbing swiftly into the keen air travelled steadily until, just before midnight, Dick and Yvette sighted simultaneously the lake at Klagenfurt and the silvery line of the Drave stretching away to the eastward.

With nearly three hundred miles to fly Dick set the Mohawk on a course parallel to the Drave and slightly to the south of it, and for hour after hour they flew on through the brilliant night. Five thousand feet up, they had no fear of detection and gave themselves up to enjoy the beauty of the glorious panorama unfolded below them.

In less than five hours the Danube was sighted and crossed, and just as dawn was breaking, the Mohawk came to earth a few miles from the little town of Neusatz. Quickly the aeroplane was metamorphosed into a motor-car and the “tourists” ran into Neusatz, the little Danube town, for breakfast and rest. A few hours later they were across the borders of Galdavia and heading for Langengrad, the old capital surmounted by a frowning fortress built by the Turks in the Middle Ages.

Twenty-five miles from the city they halted at a wayside inn.

“This is where we shall meet Fédor,” Yvette explained.

It was not until after they had had dinner, a homely meal in the true Galdavian fashion, and it grew dark, that they heard from the roadway three sharp blasts on a motor-horn.

“There he is!” exclaimed the shrewd athletic girl. “Get the car out, Dick!”

The latter hurried to the shed at the rear which served as a garage and when, a few moments later, he drove the Mohawk into the white dusty roadway he found a big touring car drawn up and Yvette talking to a tall, dark-eyed young fellow whom she introduced to Dick as “Count Fédor Ruffo.”

Dick gazed at him with quick interest, for he had heard much of a wonderful invention of the Count which was expected to play an important part in their quest. Fédor was a young fellow of quiet demeanour, with the long nervous hands of an artist, a delicately cultured voice and soft dreamy eyes. Dick took him for an Austrian, which he afterwards found to be correct. He had taken a high degree in science at Vienna and had settled in Langengrad as a teacher at the University there.

“Follow the Count’s car as closely as possible, Dick,” said Yvette. “We want to slip into Langengrad unnoticed, if possible. The fewer people who see the Mohawk the better.”

The Count’s car moved away almost noiselessly into the darkness. Several times Fédor stopped and listened intently, and once they waited an hour at a point where two roads crossed. Nothing happened, however, and about one o’clock in the morning they reached the outskirts of Langengrad. Here the Count left the main road and slipped into a series of crooked by-streets lit only by the light of the moon. Finally, he turned into the courtyard of an old-fashioned house standing in its own grounds and the Mohawk was speedily backed into a large empty shed, and the door locked.

“Now, Mr Manton,” said the Count in fair English, “will you drive Miss Pasquet in my car to the Continental and register there? She knows the way. Rooms have been taken for you. You had better use my car while you are here. In the meantime if we meet in public remember we are strangers. Foreigners here are pretty closely watched.”

The Hôtel Continental at Langengrad is one of those cosmopolitan caravanserais dear to the heart of the tourist. As usual it was crowded, and even at two o’clock in the morning the café was humming with activity. Consequently Dick and Yvette arrived almost unnoticed. Explaining that they had been delayed by a motor breakdown they were soon in their rooms and were sound asleep.

Next morning Yvette took Dick out into the gay pleasant city of boulevards and handsome buildings. He was immensely interested in the brilliant scene, but he realised they were on a desperate mission and took care to fix firmly in his mind the roads they would have to use. It was necessary, of course, to keep up the appearance of being mere gaping sightseers and they went from shop to shop buying a quantity of souvenirs which neither desired in the smallest degree, and arranging for them to be delivered to their hotel.

In the Balkanskaya, one of the principal streets, Yvette paused at last before a jewellers’ window which blazed with gems. A moment later, followed by Dick, she slipped into a narrow passage at the side of the shop and turning into a doorway began to mount a flight of stairs which seemingly led to suites of offices in the upper part of the building. On the third floor she halted before a dingy door, and knocked softly.

Instantly the door was opened by Fédor who, inviting them within, shut the door and locked it. “Well, Fédor, what luck?” Yvette asked.

“The best,” was the reply. “We have been able to find out exactly the people with whom Bausch and Horst are associating, and where their meetings are being held. You have arrived in the very nick of time. I fancy—indeed, I am almost sure—the agreement will be signed either to-night or to-morrow night. I have overheard most of their talk.”

“But how have you managed that?” Dick asked eagerly.

“Miss Pasquet’s telephone, of course,” said Fédor. “Didn’t she tell you about it?” Yvette blushed and laughed.

“You didn’t know I was an electrician, did you, Dick?” she said. “Well, you will soon see my little invention at work. But it is nothing to compare with Fédor’s.”

The good-looking Count talked earnestly for half an hour, acquainting them fully with the work of Yvette’s agents in the Galdavian capital, until Dick became amazed at the perfection of the organisation which the alert young French girl had so swiftly created.

“Ostrovitch’s Party,” Fédor concluded, “usually meet at the house of General Mestich, who, as you know, is the Commander of the Headquarter Troops in Langengrad. He is a wonderfully able man, but is a confirmed gambler and bon viveur, and is