“It’s the most astounding conspiracy,” Thomson replied. “I was in Germany a few weeks ago, as you know.”
“I heard all about it. A very brilliant but a very dangerous exploit, that of yours, Thomson.”
“I will tell you my impressions, sir,” the latter continued. “The ignorance displayed in the German newspapers about England is entirely a matter of censorship. Their actual information as regards every detail of our military condition is simply amazing. They know exactly what munitions are reaching our shores from abroad, they know how we are paying for them, they know exactly our financial condition, they know all about our new guns, they know just how many men we could send over to France to-morrow and how many we could get through in three months’ time. They know the private views of every one of the Cabinet Ministers. They knew in Berlin yesterday what took place at the Cabinet Council the day before. You must realise yourself that some of this is true. How does the information get through?”
“There are spies, of course,” the Chief admitted.
“The ordinary spy could make no such reports as the Germans are getting hour by hour. If I am to make a success of my job, I want the letters of Sir Alfred Anselman.”
The Chief considered for several moments. Then he wrote a few lines on a sheet of paper.
“There’ll be the perfect devil to pay,” he said simply. “We shall have Cabinet Ministers running about the place like black beetles. What’s the matter with your head?”
“I was shot at in the Park,” Thomson explained. “A man had a flying go at me from a motor-car.”
“Was he caught?”
Thomson shook his head.