Noisily opening the gate of one of the houses von Loringhoven strode up the path with deliberate footsteps. A timorous step would, he argued with himself, give rise to suspicion. At the front door he knocked loudly and waited.
Although the heavy dark curtains over the upstairs windows allowed no strong beam of light to penetrate von Loringhoven knew by the metallic click of a switch that the electric light had just been put on. Then came the shuffling noise of slippered feet descending the stairs and the unbolting of the door.
"Hullo, Tom!" exclaimed von Loringhoven, as the door was thrown open, revealing in the faint starlight the tall, burly figure of a man in a long dressing jacket.
"Hullo, James!" was the equally boisterous reply. "You're late. Missed the last train, eh? Come in."
These histrionic greetings completed, the occupier closed the door and switched on the light, and the ober-leutnant was ushered into a well-furnished room opening out of the hall.
"You risked it, then," remarked the ober-leutnant's companion, speaking in German. "I am not surprised, von Loringhoven. Karl told me.... Business brisk?"
Ernst von Gobendorff, German by birth and upbringing, but, unfortunately, Anglo-Saxon in appearance, was one of the vast Hun espionage organisation now admitted by the most sceptical to flourish on British soil. With Teutonic thoroughness, and hitherto without the crass blundering that has oft-times wrecked the deep-laid plans of kultur, von Gobendorff had gained a high position in the ranks of the Kaiser's emissaries in hostile lands. He, like many others, was paid by results, although he drew a small fixed salary from his Hunnish paymasters. For the last eighteen months Cornwall had been the scene of his labours, most of his work consisting of transmitting information of the movements of shipping to the U-boat commanders operating off the coast. He looked English; he spoke English with a faultless Midland accent; he had an English registration card, which, though easy to obtain, is generally sufficient to satisfy the curiosity of the average county policeman. Under the assumed name of Thomas Middlecrease, and posing as a commercial traveller to a London house, he "worked" the length and breadth of the Delectable Duchy with a zeal that was the envy and admiration of genuine Knights of the Road.
Von Gobendorff was not merely a spy: he was a desperado, whenever opportunity occurred, under the distinguished patronage of the German High Command. His system of communicating with Berlin was so skilfully manipulated that unless all telegraphic and mail dispatches between Great Britain and neutral countries were suspended, he could rely upon his reports reaching the Admiralty-strasse within forty-eight hours.
"Business," replied von Loringhoven, leaning back in a lounge chair and thrusting his feet close to an electric radiator—"business is as usual. And yours?"
"Rather slack of late," admitted von Gobendorff. "However, I am expecting a coup. How is your brother, the Zeppelin commander?"