"I see. Now, listen to my final words, Mr. Wynn. Before the summer is past I shall endeavour to prove that you are wrong in a number of the statements you have made. In doing so, I shall try to inflict upon England a humiliation greater than she has ever suffered in her most disastrous war, and so I bid you good-bye, sir, with a renewal of my gratitude for your kind reception."
"Great heavens, wait a bit, wait a bit! I want further particulars. What do you propose to do? Dynamite the Houses of Parliament?"
"Wait and see," replied Stranleigh, as with a laugh he let himself out into the lobby.
A fortnight later, the Right Honourable Dennis Macgregor Wynn was at liberty to work in a cooler spot than the narrow thoroughfare of Downing Street. He had taken an afternoon train from London, and in a little over two hours was wandering round the grounds of Walmer Castle, by the sea. It would have been difficult to imagine a more ideal place for the purposes Mr. Wynn had in mind. The Castle was quiet and secluded, situated amidst ample private grounds, and thus free from intrusion. To the front of it lay the broad blue Channel, and to the south-east the sinister Goodwin Sands, which in their time had swallowed up many a
