“But you’re an American citizen?”

“Well, so was Jack James an American citizen, but he’s doing time in Portland all the same. It cuts no ice with a British copper to tell him you’re an American citizen. ‘It’s British law and order over here,’ says he. By the way, mister, talking of Jack James, it seems to me you don’t do much to cover your men.”

“What do you mean?” Von Bork asked sharply.

“Well, you are their employer, ain’t you? It’s up to you to see that they don’t fall down. But they do fall down, and when did you ever pick them up? There’s James —”

“It was James’s own fault. You know that yourself. He was too self-willed for the job.”

“James was a bonehead — I give you that. Then there was Hollis. ”

“The man was mad.”

“Well, he went a bit woozy towards the end. It’s enough to make a man bughouse when he has to play a part from morning to night with a hundred guys all ready to set the coppers wise to him. But now there is Steiner —”

Von Bork started violently, and his ruddy face turned a shade paler.

“What about Steiner?”

“Well, they’ve got him, that’s all. They raided his store last night, and and he and his papers are all in Portsmouth jail. You’ll go off and he, poor devil, will have to stand the racket, and lucky if he gets off with his life. That’s why I want to get over the water as soon as you do.”

Von Bork was a strong, self-contained man, but it was easy to see that the news had shaken him.

“How could they have got on to Steiner?” he muttered. “That’s the worst blow yet.”

“Well, you nearly had a worse one, for I believe they are not far off me.”

“You don’t mean that!”

“Sure thing. My landlady down Fratton way had some inquiries, and when I heard of it I guessed it was time for me to hustle. But what I want to know, mister, is how the coppers know these things? Steiner is the fifth man you’ve lost since I signed on with you, and I know the name of the sixth if I don’t get a move on. How do you explain it, and ain’t you ashamed to see your men go down like this?”

Von Bork flushed crimson.

“How dare you speak in such a way!”

“If I didn’t dare things, mister, I wouldn’t be in your service. But I’ll tell you straight what is in my mind. I’ve heard that with you German politicians when an agent has done his work you are not sorry to see him put away.”

Von Bork sprang to his feet.

“Do you dare to suggest that I have given away my own agents!”

“I don’t stand for that, mister, but there’s a stool pigeon or a cross somewhere, and it’s up to you to find out where it is. Anyhow I am taking no more chances. It’s me for little Holland, and the sooner the better.”

Then, one day, a lovely sunny day with great tufts of primroses under the hazels, and many violets dotting the paths, she came in the afternoon to the coops and there was one tiny, tiny perky chicken tinily prancing round in front of a coop, and the mother hen clucking in terror. The slim little chick was greyish brown with dark markings, and it was the most alive little spark of a creature in seven kingdoms at that moment. Connie crouched to watch in a sort of ecstasy. Life, life! pure, sparky, fearless new life! New life! So tiny and so utterly without fear! Even when it scampered a little, scrambling into the coop again, and disappeared under the hen’s feathers in answer to the mother hen’s wild alarm–cries, it was not really frightened, it took it as a game, the game of living. For in a moment a tiny sharp head was poking through the gold–brown feathers of the hen, and eyeing the Cosmos.

Connie was fascinated. And at the same time, never had she felt so acutely the agony of her own female forlornness. It was becoming unbearable.

She had only one desire now, to go to the clearing in the wood. The rest was a kind of painful dream. But sometimes she was kept all day at Wragby, by her duties as hostess. And then she felt as if she too were going blank, just blank and insane.

One evening, guests or no guests, she escaped after tea. It was late, and she fled across the park like one who fears to be called back. The sun was setting rosy as she entered the wood, but she pressed on among the flowers. The light would last long overhead.

She arrived at the clearing flushed and semi–conscious. The keeper was there, in his shirt–sleeves, just closing up the coops for the night, so the little occupants would be safe. But still one little trio was pattering about on tiny feet, alert drab mites, under the straw shelter, refusing to be called in by the anxious mother.

‘I had to come and see the chickens!’ she said, panting, glancing shyly at the keeper, almost unaware of him. ‘Are there any more?’

‘Thurty–six so far!’ he said. ‘Not bad!’

He too took a curious pleasure in watching the young things come out.

Connie crouched in front of the last coop. The three chicks had run in. But still their cheeky heads came poking sharply through the yellow feathers, then withdrawing, then only one beady little head eyeing forth from the vast mother–body.

‘I’d love to touch them,’ she said, putting her lingers gingerly through the bars of the coop. But the mother–hen pecked at her hand fiercely, and Connie drew back startled and frightened.

‘How she pecks at me! She hates me!’ she said in a wondering voice. ‘But I wouldn’t hurt them!’

The man standing above her laughed, and crouched down beside her, knees apart, and put his hand with quiet confidence slowly into the coop. The old hen pecked at him, but not so savagely. And slowly, softly, with sure gentle lingers, he felt among the old bird’s feathers and drew out a faintly–peeping chick in his closed hand.