"I won an exhibition in my younger days," the detective replied. "I used to consider myself rather great on history."
"Who won the Wars of the Roses?"
"The Lancastrians, of course."
Crawshay nodded.
"They were the chaps with the red roses, weren't they?" he observed.
"Brightman, I fancy we are going to reverse that. I am laying five to one
that I've found out how Jocelyn Thew counts on getting his spoils into
Germany."
CHAPTER XXII
The dinner of the red roses, as though in emulation of its rival entertainment, seemed on its way to complete success. Jocelyn Thew, from whose manner there seemed to have departed much of the austerity of the previous evening, had never been a more brilliant companion. He, who spoke so seldom of his own doings, told story after story of his wanderings in distant countries, until even Katharine lost her fears of the situation and abandoned herself to the enjoyment of the moment. His tone was kindlier and his manner more natural. He spoke with regret of Richard Beverley's departure in a couple of days, and only once did he hint at anything in the least disturbing.
"Wonderful feat, that of you flying men," he remarked, "dropping ten thousand copies of Wilson's speech over the German lines. I am not sure that it isn't rather a dangerous precedent, though."
"Why dangerous?" Katharine enquired.
"Because," he answered coolly, "it might suggest a possible means of communication with Germany to a person, say, like myself."