Ray remarked that he supposed she did not often transmit messages in German, whereupon she said:
"Oh, yes. The German waiter up at the Golf Club sends them sometimes."
"Is he the only German you have in North Queensferry?" he inquired casually.
"I've never heard of any other, sir," replied the good woman, and then we both wished her good-day and left.
Our next action was to climb the Ferry Hill at the back of the post office, passing the station and Carlingnose Fort, until we reached the club-house of the Dunfermline Golf Club, which commands a fine prospect over the wide estuary eastward.
No one appeared to be playing that morning, but on entering the club we were approached by a fair-headed, rather smart-looking German waiter. His age was about thirty, his fair moustache well trained, and his hair closely cropped.
I made inquiry for an imaginary person, and by that means was enabled to engage the man in conversation. Ray, on his part, remarked that he would be staying in the neighbourhood for some time, and requested a list of members and terms of membership. In response, the waiter fetched him a book of rules, which he placed in his pocket.
"Well?" I asked, as we descended the hill.
"To me," my friend remarked, "there is only one suspicious fact about that man—his nationality."
The afternoon we spent out at the naval offices, where I was introduced to the Superintendent and the second officer, and where I stood by while my friend again examined the big green-painted safe, closely investigating its lock with the aid of his magnifying glass. It was apparent that those in charge regarded him as a harmless crank, for so confident were they that no spy had been able to get at the plans that no night watch had ever been kept upon the place.