“Certainly; but first I must tell you of a remarkable occurrence which took place here earlier this morning.” A violent fit of coughing interrupted Wyndham, and it was some minutes before he could speak clearly. “Ah!” he gasped, tilting back in his chair and mopping his flushed face, “a spring cold is almost impossible to cure.”
“I don’t think yours will be improved if you continue to sit in a direct draft,” remonstrated the Secretary of State, pointing to the open windows.
“I had to have air. By George! man, if you had been through what I have this morning—” he did not complete his sentence.
“What happened?” asked the Secretary of State, with growing interest.
“The plans of the two new dreadnaughts have been stolen.”
“Impossible!” The Secretary of State half started from his chair.
“Impossible? Well, I’d have said the same five hours ago,” dryly.
“Were they stolen from this office?” asked Douglas.
“Yes, and not only from this office, but under my very eyes.”
“How?”