“Where do you think we could get a copy of the paper?” I asked shortly.
“If it’s frightfully important, dear, you might get one in Glenelg, and, failing that, Doctor Whitehouse would lend you his. I know he takes it in. Why are you so keen about it?”
“We’ll go into the den and tell you everything in a minute or two, dear,” I promised. “Is there any objection to my sending Angus in to the doctor?”
“None whatever,” Myra declared, “he can go now if you like.”
So after I had despatched Angus into the village with strict instructions not to come back without a copy of the paper if he valued his life, we all adjourned to Myra’s den, and my friend and I told her in detail everything that had happened. About an hour and a half later Angus returned with the paper. I took it from him with a hurried word of thanks and nervously turned over the pages.
“Ah! here’s a page I didn’t see,” I exclaimed excitedly, but the only thing on the whole page was a photograph of a new dancer appearing in London. Without waiting for me to do so, Dennis leaned over me and turned the page over with a quick jerk of the wrist.
“Phew!” I exclaimed involuntarily, and Dennis gave a long, low whistle.
“Oh! what is it? Tell me!” pleaded Myra, anxiously.
“It’s a photograph of our friend Fuller,” I replied slowly, in a voice that shook with excitement. “And he’s wearing court dress, and underneath the photograph are the words ‘Baron Hugo von Guernstein, Secretary of the Military Intelligence Department of the Imperial German General Staff.’”