Ambrose Lavendale, Diplomat. E. Phillips Oppenheim

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      Mr. Daniel H. Hurn signed his bill and laid down an insignificant tip.

      'You through with your luncheon?' he inquired. 'Right! Then what about taking me along and letting me have a word with your friend?'

      'I don't mind,' Lavendale agreed, a little doubtfully, 'but he hasn't very much influence.'

      Again the other smiled, and again Lavendale was impressed by that mysterious contortion. He glanced towards the adjoining table. The girl was still watching them closely. Jules, whom she had apparently just summoned, was standing by her side, and Lavendale was convinced that the questions which she was obviously asking, referred to him. He left the room with reluctance and followed his companion through the hall and into a taxi.

      'Not sure whether I told you,' the latter remarked, as he seated himself, 'that my name is Hurn—Daniel H. Hurn—and I come from way out west.'

      'Glad to meet you, Mr. Hurn,' Lavendale murmured mechanically. 'You are not taking anything with you to show the people at the War Office, then?'

      Mr. Hurn shook his head.

      'Not necessary,' he answered. 'Bring me face to face with a live man—that's all I need, that's all you need to end the war.'

      'I am an American,' Lavendale reminded him.

      Mr. Hurn glanced at his companion curiously. Lavendale, dressed by an English tailor and at home in most of the capitals of Europe, was an unfamiliar type.

      'Shouldn't have thought it,' he admitted. 'This the place?'

      Lavendale nodded and paid for the taxi without any protest from his companion, whom he piloted down many corridors until they reached a room in the rear of the building. A boy scout guarded the door. He stood on one side to let Lavendale pass, but glanced at his companion questioningly.

      'Would you mind waiting here just for a moment?' Lavendale suggested. 'My friend is in this room, working with several other men. It would be better for me to have a word with him first.'

      'Sure!' the other agreed. 'You run the show. I'll wait.'

      Lavendale entered the apartment and approached the desk before which his friend was sitting.

      'Hullo, Reggie!' he exclaimed.

      The young man, who was hard at work, looked up from a sheaf of papers and held out his left hand.

      'How are you, Ambrose? Sit down by the side of me, if you want to talk. We're up to the eyes here.'

      Lavendale leaned over the desk.

      'Look here, old chap,' he went on, 'I've come on a sort of fool's errand, perhaps. I've got a little American outside. He's a most unholy-looking object, but he wants a word with some one in the Ordnance Department.'

      Merrill shook his head reproachfully.

      'Is this quite fair?' he protested. 'We've had our morning dose of cranks already.'

      'I'm sorry,' Lavendale said, 'but you've got to deal with one more.'

      'Know anything about him?'

      'Not a thing,' Lavendale admitted. 'I've talked to him for five minutes, and I have just an idea that you ought to hear what he has to say.'

      Merrill laid down a paperweight upon his documents.

      'Look here, old fellow,' he said, 'I'll take your little pal round to Bembridge, if you say the word, but I warn you, he is as fed up as I am and he'll be pretty short with him.'

      'I shouldn't think my man was sensitive,' Lavendale observed. 'Anyhow, my trouble's over if you'll do that.'

      Merrill sighed and closed his desk.

      'This way, then.'

      They passed out of the room to where Mr. Daniel H. Hurn was waiting. Merrill seemed a little taken aback as Lavendale briefly introduced them, and his glance towards his friend was significant. However, he led them both down the corridor and knocked at a door at the further end.

      'Is the General disengaged?' he asked the orderly who opened it.

      They were immediately ushered in. Two clerks were seated at a great round table, apparently copying plans. There were models in the room of every form of modern warfare. A tall, thin man in the uniform of a General, was examining some new pattern of hand grenade as they entered.

      'Sir,' Merrill began, addressing him apologetically, 'my friend here, Mr. Ambrose Lavendale, who was in the American Embassy for some time, has brought Mr. Daniel Hurn of Chicago to have a word with you.'

      The General dropped his eyeglass and sighed.

      'An invention?' he asked patiently.

      'Something of the sort,' Mr. Hurn admitted briskly. 'Do I understand that you are a General in the British Army?'

      'I am, sir,' General Bembridge admitted.

      'Very well, then,' Mr. Hurn proceeded, 'I am here to tell you this—I can end your war. When you're through with smiling at me, you'll probably say 'Prove it.' I will prove it. There's a row of taxicabs down below. Take me outside this city of yours to where there's a garden and a field beyond. Afterwards we'll talk business. You'll want to, right enough. It'll take about an hour of your time—and I can end the war!'

      There was a moment's silence. The two clerks who had been writing at the table, had turned around. General Bembridge was looking a little curiously at his unusual visitor.

      'Mr. Hurn,' he said, 'I will be frank with you. The average number of visitors who present themselves here during the day with devices which will end the war, is twenty. To-day that average has been exceeded. I have already spoken to twenty-four. You make, you see, the twenty-fifth. If we were to go out in taxicabs and watch experiments with every one of them——'

      'Pshaw! I'm not one of those cranks,' Mr. Hurn interrupted. 'Read this.'

      He handed a half sheet of notepaper across to the General, who adjusted his eyeglass and read. The heading at the top of the notepaper was 'The Chicago School of Chemical Research' and its contents were brief:

      'Mr. Daniel H. Hurn is a distinguished member of this society. We recommend the attention of the British War Office to any suggestion he may make.'

      'Here's another,' Mr. Hurn went on. 'This is from the greatest firm of steel producers in the world—kind of personal.'

      General Bembridge glanced at the historic name which recommended Mr. Hurn to the consideration of the Government. Then he sighed.

      'I am going to-morrow morning at ten o'clock,' he said, 'to inspect a battery at Hatton Park, three miles from Hatfield, on the road to Baldock. You can meet me at the lodge gate at a quarter to ten and I will give you a quarter of an hour.'

      'This afternoon would have been better,' Mr. Hurn observed, buttoning up the letters in his coat, 'but to-morrow morning it shall be.'

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