Chapter 1

England's mad desire to possess again the LEONARDO wax bust.'

"'But what about the violation of Belgium?' I asked.

"'Ah!' he said darkly. 'It was England's intention to march through Belgium to Berlin to get the bust. Fortunately we knew that. We therefore marched through Belgium first.'

"With these words the famous virtuoso sat back in his chair.

"'If you will consent to be blind-folded for a part of the journey--a necessary precaution which I am sure you will appreciate,' he remarked a moment or so later,--'I will show you the priceless masterpiece in its hiding-place. Then you will understand. Also I should like the world to know how Germany reveres and guards its choicest treasures."

"Naturally I consented, and a bandage being bound over my eyes I took the hand of my companion and was led away.

"You may wonder that after everything that has been happening recently I was willing thus to entrust myself to a German, but you must remember that so far as he knew I was an American, a member of a country whose goodwill has been angled for with every conceivable bait. It is not as if I had been a cathedral or a French priest or a Belgian mother.

"For how far I was led I cannot say, but we seemed to descend an incredible distance into the earth and then pass along interminable passages. At last my eyes were unbound and I discovered myself to be in the midst of a company of soldiers armed to the teeth, obviously underground, and I saw opposite me, in the light of an electric torch, a massive iron gate, which the supreme expert proceeded to unlock.

"We entered a gloomy cavern and again were confronted by a massive gate, which in its turn was also unlocked, revealing an inner chamber in the midst of which was a glass case.

"My companion reverently uncovered. 'The triumph of my career,' he murmured. 'The coping-stone of my virtuosity. The cause of my ennoblement.'

"Before us was the famous wax bust, fresh from the hands of LUC--I mean LEONARDO.

"'And the early-Victorian waistcoat,' I said, 'which the clumsy fellow who renovated this bust always stuffed into the Leonardos which he was called upon to botch--you still have that?"

"'Oh no,' replied the enthusiast hastily, 'we threw that away. Why keep that? But you can understand," he continued, "why we have taken all the precautions we have? Whatever else might be lost in any attack on Berlin--should one be within the bounds of possibility--this must be saved.'

"'Not only must,' I replied, 'but will be saved. I feel certain that your plans have been sufficient. England, whatever else she may take from Berlin, will leave this bust with you.'

"He wrung my hand. 'You hearten me,' he said. 'But now for the return journey;' and again the bandage was applied."

* * * * *

ILLUSTRATION:

I.

II.

III.

"MORNING, MATE. BIT BREEZY FOR GETTING A LIGHT, AIN'T IT?"

* * * * *

Among other items being produced at the Ambassadors' Theatre by an Anglo-Franco-Belgian company is "My Lady's Undress." A contemporary describes this as "a good take-off."

* * * * *

"English submarine after a rude battle drowned the German Ship Heine."

This is from _The Bahia Blanca Times_ (the only foreign paper we take in), and shows how the news gets about.

* * * * *

_The Daily News_ quotes the _Berlin Taegliche Rundschau_ as follows:--

"Germany and Holland ... are neighbours of ethnological affinity and united by numerous commercial and intellectual bombs."

Even the bombs in Germany are cultured.

* * * * *

THE ARREST.

"Excuse me, but can you tell me which is Hunter Street?" said the tall pleasant-looking man with the slightly foreign aspect.

"Hunter Street," I said, waving a vague hand, "lies over there. It is," I continued, fixing him with a stern look, "for constabulary purposes a chapel-of-ease to Bow Street."

He did not seem in the least perturbed.

"Ah!" he said, "a special constable, I suppose?"

I was only going on duty--theoretically I am never off duty--but I am missing no chances.

"Yes," I said, "I am. Do you mind telling me, quite between ourselves, you know, whether you are a German spy?"

He smiled slightly.

"Because if you are," I said, "perhaps you wouldn't mind holding on a minute. The strap of my truncheon has (tug) got fouled (tug) with my (tug) braces."

I got it out at last and stroked it lovingly. "I can't start before I'm ready," I said. "Rather neat bit of wood--what? Chose it myself at Bow Street. I take a 13-1/2-ounce racquet, you know."

"You seem," he said, "to have given up caring whether I am a German spy or not."

"Your mistake," I said; "I was merely gaining time to size you up properly. Better take your pince-nez off. Broken glass is such a nuisance, don't you think?"

He ignored the friendly hint. "As a matter of fact," he said, "I _am_ partly German."

"Show me the German part," I said, gripping the corrugations of my truncheon more tightly. "I'm a little pressed for time."

"And partly French," he went on.

"That's rather awkward," I said.

"And I was born in Russia."

"Worse and worse," I said.

"And spent practically the first twenty years of my life in Italy."

"This," I said, "is the absolute boundary. Yours is a case for the New Prize Courts."

"But you haven't formally arrested me yet," he said.

"True," I said, "I'm just coming to that part, but at the moment I've forgotten the opening movements of the half-nelson."

"My wife," he said musingly, "will be very annoyed. She's extremely English, you know."

"Look here," I said, "I really think I shall let you go, after all. So little of you is the enemy, so much the friend, that I don't care to take the responsibility of arresting you. But perhaps I ought to resign. Come and have a sandwich, I've just time for one, and we can talk it over."

"Right," he said, "we may as well. By the way, it was my grandparents on my mother's side who were French and German." Then, producing his warrant card, he said, "I am a Special too. My name's Briggs."

* * * * *

Illustration: TALES FROM THE TRENCHES.

_Some of our Soldiers, who were within seventy yards of the German trenches, hoisted an improvised target. The Germans did the same. Both sides signalled the result of the shooting._

_First Tommy._ "GET DOWN! DO YOU WANT 'EM TO COP YER?"

_Second Tommy._ "BLIMY! THE PERISHERS SIGNALLED MY BULL A MISS, AND I'M JUST AGOIN' TO 'OP OVER AN' TELL 'EM ABAHT IT."

* * * * *

The following reaches us from General Headquarters abroad:--

"ARMY TROOP ORDER, NO. 40.--Information has been received that many Field Service postcards are arriving at the G. P. O. without any address on them. The instructions printed on the cards that nothing is to be written on them does not apply to the address. O. C.'s are requested to bring this fact to the notice of all ranks. _Oct. 12, 1914._"

The discipline in the Army seems to be almost too good.

* * * * *

"The German Press is conducting a campaign to prove that Belgium was deceived by the English, who, it is asserted, depicted the Germans as sausages; hence the people were frightened when the German troops approached."--_Yorkshire Evening Press._

The Scotch, however, are even less polite, _The Aberdeen Evening Express_ announcing boldly--

"GORILLA FIGHTING ON THE BELGIAN FRONTIER."

* * * * *

THE KHAKI MUFFLER.

The blinds were drawn, the lamps were lit and the fire was burning brightly. I was reading an evening paper--we get the 5.30 edition at the moment of publication, though we are thirty miles from London--and I had just found Prezymyzle (my own pronunciation) on the map for the thousandth time. Helen says that quite in the early days of the war she was told it ought to be pronounced Perimeeshy, but that seems impossible. Rosie declares for Prozmeel. Still she isn't very confident about it. One thing seems certain: when the Russians take this jaw-cracking town they will pronounce it quite differently from the Austrian form, whatever that may be. Just think of what happened to Lemberg. There appeared to be a kind of finality about that, but no sooner were the Russians in it than it turned into Lwow. After that anything might happen to Przemysl.

However, there were the three of us sitting in the library. I was helping the common cause with the evening paper and the map, and Helen and Rosie were knitting away like mad at khaki mufflers for Lady FRENCH. Click-click went the needles; the youthful fingers moved with incredible deftness and celerity, and line after line was added by each executant to her already enormous pile. There had been a long silence, and the time for breaking it seemed to have come.

"Well done, both of you," I said. "You really are getting on to-day. A week ago I thought you'd never get finished, and now----" I waved my hand encouragingly at the two heaps of wool-work.

"There," said Helen, "you've made me drop one."

"Pick it up again," I said with enthusiasm. "What were girls made for if not to pick up dropped stitches? But tell me," I added, "what would happen if you didn't pick it up?"

"My soldier," said Helen gloomily, "would go into the trenches and, instead of having a muffler, he would suddenly find himself coming undone all over him. Do you think he would like that?"

"No," I said, "he wouldn't. No soldier could possibly like a thing of that sort when he's got to fight Germans."

"I wonder," put in Rosie, "what _my_ soldier will be like. I think I should like him to have a moustache--yes, I'm sure I want him to have a moustache."

"He'll have a moustache all right," said Helen, who is practical rather than dreamy. "And he'll have whiskers, too, and a beard as long as your arm. Do you think people have time to shave when they're in trenches?"

"Well, anyhow," said Rosie, "both our soldiers will be very brave men."

"That," said Helen, "is quite certain. Let's put in some good hard stitches to thank them for their bravery."

There was a short silence while this operation was performed with great zeal. The fingers flew through their complicated task and the web seemed to grow visibly.

"Haven't you both," I said, "done about enough? Talk about mufflers! In my day a muffler was something a man wore round his neck; but your mufflers would serve to clothe a whole platoon from head to heel with something left over. Benevolence is all very well, but you shouldn't overdo it. There isn't a soldier alive who wouldn't trip over your mufflers. Think of him tripped up by a muffler and caught by a German."

"Lady FRENCH," said Helen, "wrote in her letter to _The Times_ that every muffler was to be two yards and a half long and twelve inches broad."

"Well," I said, "you've got the breadth all right."

"Yes," said Helen, "we got that in the first line, and we've never let go of it since. Anybody could get the breadth. _You_ could do that if you tried."

"Graceless child," I said, "you don't seem to be aware that in my earliest boyhood I once began to knit a sock."

"But you didn't finish it," said Helen. "I know that story."

"Fathers," said Rosie, "could knit very well if they tried, but they won't try."

"Come," I said, "I won't compete with you in knitting, but I'm game to bet you've done seven feet six inches in length already."

"All right," said Helen, "we'll bet a penny. Only remember, mine was only six feet yesterday and Rosie's was four inches shorter."

I spread the fabrics on the floor and set to work with a tape measure. The first result was, Helen five feet eleven inches; Rosie five feet six inches.

"This," I said, "is maddening. You are imitating Penelope."

"I don't know about Penelope," said Helen, "but you haven't straightened them out enough."

I smoothed them out carefully and measured again. This time the result was, Helen six feet two inches; Rosie five feet ten inches.

"Capital!" I said; "I will do some more smoothing."

"No," said Helen, "that won't be fair to Lady FRENCH or our soldiers. We must give them an inch or so over, if anything;" and they picked up the unfinished mufflers and set to work at them with renewed energy.

* * *

This was four days ago. Now both the mufflers are gloriously finished and ready to be despatched. When our two soldiers wear them we hope they will feel that there is a little magic in them as well as a great deal of warmth. There is love knitted into them and admiration and gratitude, and there are quiet thoughts of beautiful English country-sides and happy homes which our soldiers are helping to guard for us, though they are far away.

R. C. L.

* * * * *

THE LOST SEASON.

(_A Point of View._)

Farewell to the stretches of pasture and plough And the flicker of sterns through the gorse on the hill, And the mulberry coats there, alone with them now, To cheer as they're finding and whoop at the kill; Farewell to the vale and the woodland forlorn, To the fox in his earth and the hound on his bench; Unheard is the pack and unheeded the horn, So loud and so near are the bugles of FRENCH.

The lines of blood hunters are gone from the stalls And a host of good men to the millions that meet, For grim is the Huntsman, in thunder he calls, And continents roar with the galloping feet; There's a country to cross where the fences are steel, And, though many must fall and the finish is far, There is none shall outride them, with heart, hand and heel, Who have gone hard and straight in "The Image of War."

* * * * *

THE GERMAN "DOVE."

(_Suggested by recent exploits of the "Taube" Aeroplane._)

In ancient and in happier days the Dove Stood as an emblem sure of peace and love; Now must we link it with the fiend who flies Down-dropping death on children from the skies.

* * * * *

Illustration: _Sportsman._ "LAST TWO CARTRIDGES, DAN. WHAT'S TO BE DONE NOW?"

_Dan'l._ "YE'LL HEV TO TAKE TO THE BAINIT, COLONEL."

* * * * *

A NEW ART.

[It is rumoured that Cinema playwrights, following the example of certain well-known stage dramatists, are likely in future, in addition to the film representations, to publish their works in novel-form. The manuscript of one of the earliest of these productions has just come into our hands.]

LOVE AND DIPLOMACY.