“Well, I really can wait no longer. You can imagine that things are moving at present in Carlton Terrace and that we have all to be at our posts. I had hoped to be able to bring news of your great coup. Did Altamont name no hour?”
Von Bork pushed over a telegram.
Will come without fail to-night and bring new sparking plugs.—ALTAMONT.
“Sparking plugs, eh?”
“You see he poses as a motor expert and I keep a full garage. In our code everything likely to come up is named after some spare part. If he talks of a radiator it is a battleship, of an oil pump a cruiser, and so on. Sparking plugs are naval signals.”
“From Portsmouth at midday,” said the secretary, examining the superscription. “By the way, what do you give him?”
“Five hundred pounds for this particular job. Of course he has a salary as well.”
“The greedy rogue. They are useful, these traitors, but I grudge them their blood money.”
“I grudge Altamont nothing. He is a wonderful worker. If I pay him well, at least he delivers the goods, to use his own phrase. Besides he is not a traitor. I assure you that our most pan-Germanic Junker is a sucking dove in his feelings towards England as compared with a real bitter Irish-American.”
“Oh, an Irish-American?”