The military wireless station at Aldershot had just finished sending the usual extracts from the press to the headquarters of the Rhine Army at Cologne, when Geoffrey Falconer, with the telephones still over his ears, lowered the wave-length of his reception set, and began to listen to the strains of an orchestra being played at The Hague.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and “the Dutch Concert,” to which all wireless men in England listen so eagerly, was in progress.

Seated in his own experimental laboratory at Warley he leaned his elbows upon the operating-bench and listened.

Who would have dreamed a couple of years ago that a concert given at The Hague could be heard with distinctness by wireless in every corner of the United Kingdom! A cornet solo at the moment being played was loud and perfectly clear. He turned a switch, when from the black trumpet of the loud-speaker telephone on the table the sound became so amplified that the instrument could be heard in any part of the house.

During the day he had been engaged upon some highly interesting experiments upon a crystal producing oscillations, audible frequency currents being obtained by two metal electrodes dipped into the powder of a certain crystal. The matter was extremely technical, and would not be understood by any but radio experimenters; therefore, I need not further describe it. Suffice it to say that all the time Geoffrey could spare from the Works at Chelmsford he devoted to research in his own laboratory at home.

Mrs. Beverley and Sylvia were away in the Trossachs, hence he seldom went to London save when duty took him up to Marconi House.

Geoffrey listened to several songs from The Hague, and then put down the head-’phones, switched his aerial wires to earth, and went out into the pleasant old-world garden to smoke a cigarette. The afternoon was clear and bright, and along the grass path of the long rose walk he strolled, his mind full of the scientific problems which he had been endeavouring all the morning to solve. He wandered to the lawn and sat down in the summer-house awaiting the Professor, for always about that hour he, too, came forth from his study to enjoy a cigar. Suddenly, however, the housemaid appeared saying that he was wanted on the hand telephone.

He hastened to the instrument in the hall, when he found himself speaking to one of his fellow-engineers, named Jerrold, who lived at Witham, and who had a private wireless station similar to his own not far from the Marconi station there.

“I say, Falconer,” he exclaimed, “have you been listening lately?”

“Yes. Till about twenty minutes ago.”

“Ah! Then you didn’t hear that message to you—did you?”

“No. What message?” asked Geoffrey.

“Oh, somebody on the wireless ’phone about sixteen hundred mÈtres wave-length, called you by name, Geoffrey Falconer, Warley, Essex, England.”

“Yes. What did he say?”

“I don’t know whether it was a man’s voice or a woman’s. If a man’s it was unusually high-pitched. The modulation was not very good, though I heard the words quite distinctly, and wondered if you also heard them. It was a kind of warning to you.”

“Warning!” echoed the young Marconi engineer. “In what way?”

“Well, whoever was calling you evidently did not know your call-signal, so called your name. And then he went on to warn you not to go East. If you do, you go at your peril!”

“Not to go East! How strange!” Geoffrey remarked.

“Yes; it’s a bit uncanny—isn’t it? He repeated it several times, and then added the words: ‘Anyone hearing this urgent message, will they kindly give it to Geoffrey Falconer at Warley, Essex, England?’”

“Some silly ass having a joke,” laughed Falconer. “I heard the other day that some horrible spook message was given by a practical joker over the radiophone, and the fellow who heard it, being a spiritualist, nearly died of fright. Perhaps it’s the same fellow up to his tricks again!”

“Perhaps. We’ll listen again for him, and if he gives any more warnings we’ll put the direction-finders on him, and he’ll very soon have his license taken away—if he has one,” said Jerrold.

“Well, it’s curious,” exclaimed Geoffrey laughing. “I wonder why I’m forbidden to go East, and what peril is in store for me?”

“Ah! that I don’t know. The message was given at twenty-eight minutes past three. So we’ll listen to-morrow at the same time, and on the same wave-length.”

“Right-o!” said Falconer, hanging up the receiver and then strolling back into the garden, wondering what the message really meant.

He had no intention of going East, save that he had a week before received instructions to proceed to Lucerne, where, close by, on the Tomlishorn, the highest peak of the Pilatus, above Alpnachstad, the Marconi Company were erecting a one-and-a-half kilowatt telephone and telegraph set ordered by the Swiss Government, the set used at the meeting of the League of Nations at Geneva having proved such a great success.

Lane, one of the engineers, was already out there, and he had been ordered to follow him and superintend the fitting and testing of the station before it was handed over to the Swiss authorities. Switzerland certainly lay to the East, but what mysterious peril awaited him there was certainly obscure. At first he grew a trifle anxious in view of his previous adventures, but later that evening he decided that it was some amateur who, having learned of his impending departure, was playing a practical joke. Yet curiously enough only about three or four people at the Marconi Works knew of the order he had received.

At dinner that night he mentioned the incident to the Professor, but both decided that it was only some silly joke.

On the following Thursday he left Charing Cross for Lucerne, where, at the Schweizerhof, that well-known hotel facing the lake, Lane, who had come by boat from Alpnach, came to meet him. Next day they ascended to the famous HÔtel Pilatuskulm, where they took up their quarters, only half an hour’s walk by a good path to the site of the new wireless station.

Already the two one-storeyed buildings, and the aerial upon masts of steel lattice, were erected. The material had all come out from England, and the contractors had finished their work on the masts. Indeed, Lane and his colleagues from Chelmsford had already commenced their work of fitting the apparatus.

The wireless station which the Swiss Government had ordered was situated high upon the wild rocky mountains, and was intended for the communication of post-office messages with Rome, Vienna, and Paris, the apparatus being the last word in Marconi invention.

The two great buildings which comprise the hotel were full to overflowing, as it usually is in the autumn season, a gay cosmopolitan crowd, who dined and danced and went on excursions either mountaineering or along the great blue lake to Kussnacht to see Tell’s Chapel, to Vitznau, Brunnen, or Fluelen. From the verandas there spread a wonderful panorama of lake and mountain with the various peaks, with the names of which the visitor so soon becomes familiar.

Geoffrey was standing alone on the veranda early one morning admiring the wonderful view in the morning light. There was passing along a very feeble, white-haired, white-bearded old man, accompanied by a handsome dark-haired, well-dressed young woman, who, from the attention she paid him, was palpably his daughter. The old fellow walked decrepitly as one of advanced age, and ever and anon he halted to take in the wondrous scene.

As they passed by they spoke in a tongue with which Geoffrey was unfamiliar. But the young woman, he saw, wore a wedding ring.

Their eyes met, and in hers he noted a strange, appealing look—an expression which, being quite unusual, caused him to ponder. He was rapidly becoming a cosmopolitan after his various missions abroad on behalf of the Marconi Company.

All that day he spent in the wireless hut high upon the bare, rocky mountain, carefully fitting the instruments which were to give such a wide range of telegraphy and speech—the very latest devices that had been invented in the research department at Chelmsford, for, after all, the real brains of wireless are centred in that old-fashioned Essex town.

That night he was back with Lane at the big hotel, and dined in the great salle À manger, amid the gay laughter and chatter.

Across in a corner sat the white-bearded old man with his married daughter. He seemed rather deaf, for ever and anon she bent to speak with him. And as she did so, he saw that she was most solicitous of his welfare, as only a daughter could be.

Later that night, there being the usual dance in the big ballroom, Geoffrey went in, and being attracted by her, invited her to dance with him, and she accepted.

She was alone. The old man had retired to bed.

Geoffrey’s interest was purely one of curiosity. The girl-wife seemed to be carrying out her duty to her father, and was terribly bored in doing so.

Before they parted that night he learned that she had come from Serbia, and that her name was Marya Pavlovitch. She had married a state official a year and a half before. Her father’s name was Colonel Yovan Vanoff, a well-known officer of the King’s Guard at Belgrade, who had fought valiantly against the Turks in the first Balkan war, and had gained distinction at the decisive Battle of Kumanovo.

“My husband is in England,” she told Geoffrey, speaking English well. “He is attached to the Serbian Mission. So I am here with my father, who, alas! is becoming daily more feeble.”

Next evening they met again—and the next. The old man was most affable, and day after day they had long chats in French, in which Lane often joined.

One afternoon Geoffrey went by boat along to Lucerne, eager and anxious. Mrs. Beverley and Sylvia had arrived at the Schweizerhof, that great hotel which overlooks the lake. They had tired of the Trossachs, and also of dusty London, so in accordance with young Falconer’s suggestion, they had arrived to spend a couple of weeks in “lovely Lucerne”—that town in which, before the war, one could spend a week under the wing of any tourist company for the modest sum of five guineas, railway fare included.

Geoffrey met Sylvia and her mother, and after half an hour in the great lounge of the hotel they dined together. The “Wild Widow” was charmed with the hotel and its outlook, while Sylvia, delighted at the retirement of the penurious Lord Hendlewycke, who now no longer visited them, contrived to snatch a few moments alone with her lover.

“Do you remember, Geoffrey, what you told me—that mysterious message by wireless telephone warning you not to go East?” she said anxiously, as they sat in the corridor after dinner, while her mother had gone upstairs.

“Yes,” he replied. “But really the whole thing was so ridiculous. It was, I’m convinced, only some amateur playing a practical joke.”

“Perhaps. But you should take no risks, dear,” she replied. “I don’t like the situation. Remember all that has passed.”

“Why are you so anxious?” he asked.

“Well,” she answered, glancing around, “you are, no doubt, a marked man, Geoff. You have been able to upset the plans of various conspirators, and they, no doubt, seek their revenge. Hence, be careful—do be very careful.”

Geoffrey laughed. He ridiculed the idea that any vengeance should be attempted upon him.

“I have only done my duty, my dear Sylvia!” he laughed. “My duty to the company and my duty to the Nation. Everybody surely understands that.”

“No,” the girl replied; “everybody does not understand. You, as an honest man, are at enmity with a certain revolutionary section of society. They know it. And they may lay their plans accordingly,” she said warningly. “I, of course, have no knowledge of any such plot—but I do urge you, Geoffrey, to keep very wide awake. I have some strange intuition that something may happen to you. Why—I can’t tell you!”

“My dear Sylvia, I hope I am always wide awake,” he laughed, kissing her clandestinely in the shadows, while a few moments later Mrs. Beverley reappeared.

Next morning mother and daughter went up by the railway from Alpnach to the Pilatuskulm, where they lunched with the young engineer and his friend Lane, and afterwards ascended to the newly constructed wireless station. It was not yet in working order, but Sylvia was highly interested, for she had by that time quite a good superficial knowledge of the apparatus and the power-plant, which, by the way, was almost a replica of the set which Geoffrey had installed at Bouvignes Aerodrome, in Belgium.

In the evening they went down again to Lucerne, but not until the following evening did Geoffrey again see the girl with whom he was so deeply in love. As soon as he had finished his work in that high-up spot on the Tomlishorn, he returned to the hotel, and after changing his clothes, descended to Lucerne and dined with the South American widow and her daughter.

Afterwards he went out with Sylvia on to the veranda. The night was a glorious one, the full moon rendering the lake and mountains a scene fairy-like and beautiful such as is presented perhaps nowhere else in the world. The view from the Schweizerhof on a moonlit night is always superb.

Again Sylvia returned to the strange warning from the ether which Geoffrey had received. She again confessed that she somehow felt uncomfortable about it. But her lover only pooh-poohed the affair, telling her that it was not the first time that jokes had been played by wireless.

“Why, not long ago,” he said, “the operator at one of the aerodromes for civil flying was spoken to over the wireless telephone by the Air Minister himself, who explained that he was flying from Scotland in a certain machine, and that in half an hour he intended to descend at that aerodrome. There was a great bustle at the news, but though they waited till dark the Minister never arrived. And not until next day did they learn that it was a hoax played by one of the pilots.”

The girl laughed, but still she urged Geoffrey to take care.

“You really cannot be too careful,” she declared. “I tell you I have once or twice experienced a strange presage of evil.”

“Oh, you make me feel quite nervy!” he declared, and then, as the air was cold, they returned to the palm-court, where Mrs. Beverley was seated.

The widow and her daughter remained in Lucerne for a fortnight, and then leaving Geoffrey to complete his work, went on by way of the Gothard to Milan.

Meanwhile Marya Pavlovitch and her father remained at the HÔtel Pilatuskulm, and both Geoffrey and Lane frequently met them. The girl-wife was most devoted to her father, who was often in a grumpy mood, as is usual with men of advanced age and slight infirmity. Young Madame Pavlovitch was naturally filled with curiosity concerning the new wireless station—for to ladies wireless is usually an enigma to be studied as part of Nature’s half-revealed problem—and several times, leaving her father, she had ascended the steep rock-girt road to the higher heights where, upon a little grass-grown plateau, the two new huts had been built.

Three weeks passed. Geoffrey completed his work, and made tests. The results were perfectly satisfactory. The telephony was reported as “R.9” over the Alps as far as Genoa, and to Marseilles, Coltano in Italy, Munich, Paris, and other places.

The range of speech was even further than what had been anticipated at the Works at Chelmsford. Other wireless systems had been tried by the Swiss Government, and had not come up to the standard required. But here the Marconi Company had scored another success over its competitors.

Since Sylvia’s departure, Geoffrey had often met young Madame Pavlovitch, sometimes on the boat between Alpnach and Lucerne, and sometimes in the streets of Lucerne, for she went there nearly every other day to obtain medicines for her father, she explained. On two occasions he had seen her enter a large detached private house in the Bruchstrasse, not far from the Synagogue. She had not, however, seen him, and he had not mentioned the matter. Yet it seemed apparent that the reason of her visits to Lucerne was to call at the house in question. And further, she always seemed annoyed whenever he met her on the way backwards or forwards along the lake.

One day Geoffrey had returned from the wireless station, and was taking his tea in the lounge, when the hotel manager came to him hurriedly and mentioned that the Colonel had been taken suddenly unwell, and that his daughter could not be found. She had gone to Lucerne after luncheon, he believed.

As the matter seemed one of urgency, and as the young Englishman was going to spend the evening in Lucerne, he resolved while on board the boat to go to the house in the Bruchstrasse, see whether Marya was there, and inform her of her father’s illness.

This he did. A rather tall, elderly man-servant opened the door, and when he inquired for Madame Pavlovitch he ushered him into a cosy, beautifully-furnished room, and without inquiring his name, closed the door and left him.

The room was divided from the adjoining apartment by long white-enamelled folding doors which stood slightly ajar. The man-servant must have forgotten to inform madame of his presence there, for he had been in the room hardly half a minute when into the next room, a big place decorated in white and gold, there came several men who looked like officers in mufti, accompanied by three women, one of whom was little Madame Pavlovitch.

He could not fail to hear what they were earnestly discussing in French. He stood aghast. They were planning the assassination of Andra Nikolitch, the well-known Serbian statesman, who was now President of the Council, and was at the moment staying with the Serbian Crown Prince at the Luzerner-Hof!

The terms in which the matter was being discussed admitted of no doubt that the Colonel’s pretty daughter was at its head, and that the attempt was to be made one morning when the statesman took his usual walk under the trees of the Schweizerhof-Quai.

Geoffrey stood astounded at his discovery. From their conversation it was also plain that at the same time other Ministers were to be murderously attacked in Belgrade.

Suddenly the serious fact dawned upon the young fellow that if he were discovered there he would not be allowed to leave that house alive. Balkan conspirators are not to be trifled with. They hold human life of but little account.

Falconer saw that his only chance of safety was to face the situation boldly. He placed his hand upon his hip-pocket to reassure himself that his revolver was there. Then, suddenly, he stepped forth into the big room and stood before those who had assembled to discuss their dastardly plans.

His appearance caused a sensation almost electrical.

“Why!” gasped the dark-eyed Marya. “It is M’sieur Falconer!”

Next second he was surrounded by the angry company, and in more than one hand he saw an automatic pistol. He was besieged by questions. What could he reply?

He attempted to explain the situation, declaring that he was simply a victim of circumstances, adding:

“I confess I have overheard your most interesting discussion!”

“The Englishman has been spying upon us!” cried a tall, rather elegant man in a dark suit. “If he is not silenced—and at once—he will tell the police! Remember, comrades, he is our enemy!”

“Yet M’sieur Falconer is also my friend!” declared the pretty Marya, springing forward boldly. “I, however, had no idea that he was in this house!”

Geoffrey tried to explain, but the clamour of the others was too great. He told madame that her father was ill, but they only laughed—declaring it to be an excuse. Hence he saw that unwittingly he had entered a veritable hornets’ nest, and that retreat was impossible. If he valued his life he would be compelled to stay and face the music.

He defied them, daring them to lay a finger upon him. But at madame’s urgent request he withdrew his words.

“This house is closely guarded,” she explained, “but the servant, Boris, having seen us together at the hotel and at other places, no doubt believed you to be one of us.”

“And you must become one!” declared an elderly man who seemed to be in authority over the rest. “You know our secret! So you will join us—to-night—now! From this moment you will be watched night and day. If you attempt to warn the authorities you will pay for it with your life!”Geoffrey protested, but in vain.

Then he was sworn in English and in French.

Afterwards, Marya Pavlovitch turned to the young wireless engineer, and said:

“I will now tell you the truth, M’sieur Falconer. I told you that my husband is in England with the Serbian Mission, but the fact is that he was recalled to Belgrade two months ago, and on arrival he was immediately arrested by order of his enemy, the President of the Council, Andra Nikolitch. A false charge of treason was brought against him, and he was tried in secret and shot,” and her voice trembled with emotion. “He was entirely innocent. Of that I know. Hence we have resolved to rid our country of certain of its unjust rulers.”

“Then you are a widow, madame,” Falconer remarked. “And what is intended is your revenge—eh? My silence will cost Andra Nikolitch and others their lives!” he added very slowly.

“Yes,” said the man who had urged his companions to kill him there and then. “Understand, it is either your life—or theirs!”

The young engineer did not reply.

“You are now one of us,” the man went on in a deep, hard voice. “From this moment you will be closely watched, and any attempt you make to reveal what you know to any person will be followed immediately by death. Please do not forget that!”

“I must now hurry back to my father,” said madame. “The meeting is at an end.”

And Falconer left the house with her and returned to Alpnach.

He could now understand Marya’s wild, bitter hatred of the man who had sent her innocent husband to his death. On the way back he again mentioned it, but she seemed disinclined to discuss the tragedy.

“When is the blow to be dealt!” he asked in a low whisper in order not to be overheard.

“I do not know,” was her answer, “The time is not fixed.”“But I do not like the idea of being constantly watched,” he said. “It will really be most irritating.”

“If you had not submitted you would not have left that house alive,” replied the pretty, dark-eyed young woman.

“I have to thank you, madame,” he replied. “Yet the knowledge I have gained has upset me considerably.”

“And do you not think that these fiends who murdered my husband richly deserve the fate we have in store for them?” she asked.

Upon that point, however, Falconer refused to express an opinion.

As they entered the lounge of the hotel, he was surprised to see a thin-faced, elderly man seated in a chair pretending to read a paper. Instantly he recognised him as one of the group of plotters he had met in Lucerne. He had already reached the Pilatuskulm, and was undoubtedly there in order to keep observation upon him. Indeed he found that the man, who had given the name of Vulkovitch at the bureau, had engaged the room adjoining his own.

He had hardly entered his room when there was a low tap on the door and Vulkovitch entered, with a word of apology.

“I need not tell you, M’sieur Falconer, why I am here. The object of my visit is to impress upon you the necessity for complete secrecy. It was all the fault of Boris, who, believing you to be one of us, admitted you, but as you have now become associated with us, you must conform to the rules already laid down. If you breathe a single word of what is in progress, then I shall use this!”

And he produced from his inner pocket a large silver cigar-case.

“This is not so harmless as it may appear,” he went on. “It contains an explosive so powerful that if thrown down it would wreck half the hotel.”

“And incidentally blow you to pieces,” remarked Falconer, regarding the case with interest.

The man smiled, and replied quietly.“If I have occasion to use it I shall myself take certain precautions. Only you would suffer, m’sieur.”

“Well, I hope it won’t be necessary for you to send me into the next world,” laughed the young man. “But certainly the situation is a decidedly unpleasant one—for me.”

“And equally for me,” the Serbian replied. “I regret that I am selected for this not over-pleasant duty, and I only hope you will thoroughly understand what my friends have decided. So I wish you good-night,” and bowing politely he left the room.

Geoffrey Falconer obtained but little sleep that night. The whole thing seemed like a nightmare—the oath of secrecy which he had taken, madame’s tragic story, and her fierce revenge. It seemed that she was paying all the expenses of that group of wild, political extremists from Belgrade.

Next day everywhere Geoffrey went he was followed silently and unobtrusively by the man Vulkovitch. He had a chat with Lane, but within hearing of the man, and pleading being unwell, he did not go up to the wireless station, but remained in the hotel all day in sight of the silent watcher.

He spent the afternoon with the little widow, whose father had recovered, but had not yet left his room.

After tea they went for a stroll together along the mountain path, and Vulkovitch, noticing that he was with her, relaxed his vigilance.

When alone she told him a great deal. She had been passionately fond of her late husband, who, before the war, had been assistant private secretary to King Peter of Serbia. Afterwards he had entered the diplomatic service, serving at the Legation in Paris. Then, when war broke out, he joined his regiment and fought valiantly against the Austrians until the terrible retreat. After the Peace he had been appointed to the Serbian Mission sent to London. But for the past six months, because he had discovered scandals concerning certain of the Serbian Ministers, he had been a marked man, and had eventually fallen the victim of a deliberate plot to close his lips by death.

Her father, however, knew nothing of what was in progress. She withheld the truth of her widowhood from him on account of his weak state of health.

“I am greatly annoyed at being constantly watched as I am,” Geoffrey declared frankly. “I am unable to continue my work at the wireless station because your friends fear that I may reveal the truth to somebody. The situation is most unpleasant.”

“Yes; I quite understand, M’sieur Falconer,” she said. “It was quite by accident that Boris admitted you. You thought to perform a friendly action towards me, and instead you stepped into our group. But I beg of you to have patience. I feared last night that they might kill you. They are all desperate persons, I assure you.”

“Did you form the complot?” asked the young radio-engineer.

“No. They did. They came to me and told me my husband had been tried by secret court-martial and executed, and then suggested revenge.”

Geoffrey reflected a moment.

“They came to you suggesting that you should bear the expenses of the plot?”

“Yes. I inherited a considerable fortune from my aunt, and they suggested that I should take this patriotic step, for by avenging the death of my poor husband I should rid Serbia of her enemies who are posing as her friends.”

Geoffrey pointed out that there could be no excuse for assassination, but she instantly became angry, declaring that she demanded blood for blood.

Two days passed. Wherever Falconer went the silent Vulkovitch watched him until it got upon his nerves. He scarcely dared to exchange words with Lane, who naturally grew curious as to his colleague’s change of manner, for he had suddenly become quite morose. And naturally, for were not the lives of several Serbian statesmen in his hands? He longed to warn the Serbian Premier of his peril. But how?

He longed to leave Switzerland and fly back to England—but he knew the consequences. Those plotters would follow him, and he would share the same fate as that intended for Andra Nikolitch and certain members of his Cabinet.

The third day was a Wednesday, and he had learnt that on Friday a meeting was to be held in Lucerne to fix for the following day the attempt upon the well-known statesman.

He was beside himself in agony of mind. These men—men whom he had never met—were to be murdered in cold blood. Yet he was powerless to raise a finger to save them. King Alexander and his Queen Draga had long ago fallen victims of secret assassins, while more than one Minister in Serbia had died under suspicious circumstances. Both Serbia and Bulgaria—where the poor Prime Minister, Stambuloff, and his successor, Petroff, had both been assassinated—were hotbeds of political intrigue.

Geoffrey, though a threat of death was held over him, had during those two days acted with caution. On the Friday morning he met Lane in the lounge where the silent watcher was standing, and handed him a cigarette from his case, at the same time saying that he had to go into Lucerne, hence he could not go to the wireless station that day.

Then he whispered a few quick words that caused his friend to start.

Lane struck a match, but made only pretence of lighting his cigarette.

Instead, he said:

“Very well. Cheerio! I’ll see you here to-night. The station is on test now. You really must come up and see it to-morrow.” And then he turned away.

Two minutes later Lane was back in his bedroom alone, carefully examining his cigarette. Unrolling it, he found upon the paper a message written in an almost microscopical hand telling him of the meeting of the conspirators at Lucerne that evening and its object, and urging him to take the paper at once to the Lucerne police.

Lane contrived to get to Lucerne, where he saw the Prefect of Police and showed him the paper. It bore the address in the Bruchstrasse; therefore, police agents at once kept observation upon the place, a fact which in secret Lane communicated to Falconer by a meaning glance at the luncheon table, for Falconer always sat at a little table with madame and her father, while Lane sat with two other men close by. One of the men was the silent watcher.

Falconer, though young, was a man of quick initiative. He was in a cleft stick and surrounded by unscrupulous enemies. Therefore he had set his brains to outwit them.

The final meeting of the plotters, before the Minister was to be assassinated by a bomb, was fixed for nine o’clock that night. At six o’clock he watched for madame, who was, he knew, going to Lucerne to be present. She came down, smartly dressed, and as she went out, he hastened and overtook her.

“Madame Pavlovitch,” he whispered, “I want a word with you—a serious word.”

She stopped suddenly, and then they strolled across the gravelled drive.

“I know you are going to Lucerne. But I warn you not to go!”

“Why not?” she asked, surprised.

“Because if you do you will be arrested for conspiracy,” he replied firmly. “Further, you are only being made a tool of by a band of anarchists who are using your money for their own personal ends.”

“What do you mean?” she demanded resentfully. “Have you betrayed us?”

“I have betrayed the men who have betrayed you,” was his answer. “Let us walk along, and I’ll tell you the truth,” he added.

Utterly amazed at the risk which the young Englishman had taken, she strolled at his side and listened eagerly.“Those people have lied to you,” he said. “They are hoping to carry out a scheme by which certain of your Ministers are to be killed from motives of personal vengeance.”

“How?”

“They have told you a lurid story concerning your husband—that he has been executed. Instead he is in prison at Belgrade for six months. Next week he will be liberated!”

“Alive!” she gasped. “Is Danilo alive? He has never written to me!”

“Because your friends the conspirators have intercepted his letters. The man Vulkovitch was taken away from here directly after lunch, and since then I have been in secret wireless communication with the Minister of Justice in Belgrade, from whom I have discovered the true facts concerning your husband.”

She paused.

“But I must go to Lucerne to-night,” she said, somewhat disinclined to give credit to his story.

“If you go there it will be at your peril. A raid will be made upon the house, and all will be arrested.”

“Are you fooling me, M’sieur Falconer?” she asked, facing him.

“I certainly am not,” he replied. “Keep away from Lucerne, and you will find the whole of the men, who have been posing as your friends and taking your money under false pretences, in the hands of the police.”

At first she was undecided, but he repeated that if she went to Lucerne it was at her own risk.

He had denounced the plotters, and thus saved the lives of innocent men—but he had given no information concerning her, he said.

“Instead of going to Lucerne, leave Switzerland forthwith, madame,” he urged. “Get away—now there is yet time. Within a week I guarantee that your husband will be free.”

The dark-haired young woman took Falconer’s advice, and two hours later, accompanied by her father, she left the hotel. Meanwhile the Lucerne police that night arrested the whole group, and found in the house bombs, firearms, and correspondence which proved beyond doubt the truth of what the young Englishman had written upon the cigarette-paper.

With the exception of madame, the whole desperate group subsequently appeared before the Assize Court of Lucerne, and were all sent to long terms of imprisonment.

But before the trial took place Geoffrey had received a letter from Marya, dated from Paris, telling him that her husband had reappeared as though from the grave, and that they were again united.

And now the most curious part of the whole affair is to be related.

Let it be told in Sylvia Beverley’s own words, as she told it to her lover in the drawing-room at Upper Brook Street a week later.

“My dear Geoff,” she said, “as I told you, I had a curious presage of evil concerning you. Why, I can’t tell. Something seemed to impress upon my mind the fact that if you went East you would be in peril. Days—weeks went on until I became obsessed by the feeling that something was about to happen to you. Perhaps it was an intuition because we love each other so dearly. Yet the fact remains, I was in fear. And because of that, I went to an amateur wireless experimenter whom I know—a man at Folkestone—and I got him to speak that mysterious message to you over the radio-telephone—that message of warning!”

He took her hand in his, and their lips met in a long, passionate caress.