"H'm!"
"Did you read about the Zeppelin sheds?" asked Beale. "You will find it amongst the others. All the old Zepp. hangars throughout Germany are to be put in a state of repair and turned into skating-rinks for the physical development of young Germany. Wonderful concrete floors are to be laid down, all the dilapidations are to be made good, and the bands will play daily, wet or fine."
"What does it all mean?" asked the bewildered lawyer.
"That The Day—the real Day is near at hand," said Beale soberly.
"War?"
"Against the world, but without the flash of a bayonet or the boom of a cannon. A war fought by men sitting in their little offices and pulling the strings that will choke you and me, Mr. Kitson. To-night I am going after van Heerden. I may catch him and yet fail to arrest his evil work—that's a funny word, 'evil,' for everyday people to use, but there's no other like it. To-morrow, whether I catch him or not, I will tell you the story of the plot I accidentally discovered. The British Government thinks that I have got on the track of a big thing—so does Washington, and I'm having all the help I want."
"It's a queer world," said Kitson.
"It may be queerer," responded Beale, then boldly: "How is my wife?"
"Your—well, I like your nerve!" gasped Kitson.
"I thought you preferred it that way—how is Miss Cresswell?"
"The nurse says she is doing famously. She is sleeping now; but she woke up for food and is nearly normal. She did not ask for you," he added pointedly.
Beale flushed and laughed.
"My last attempt to be merry," he said. "I suppose that to-morrow she will be well."
"But not receiving visitors," Kitson was careful to warn him. "You will keep your mind off Oliva and keep your eye fixed on van Heerden if you are wise. No man can serve two masters."
