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the better of him.
    ‘It is you I have to thank for this,’ he suddenly screamed at Haeckel in Italian. ‘You who forced me to join the association because of what I did in Berlin. I curse you. I came to England to escape from the clutches of the society of the—’
    ‘Be quiet, you fool!’ shouted Haeckel.
    ‘I will not be quiet,’ shrieked the excited man. Cartright took a step towards him as though to stop him, but Wallace waved him away. He was interested in what Casaroli had to say. ‘You followed me,’ went on the almost demented Italian. ‘I was happy. I had a good job. Now it is ruined. May God curse you and Dimitrinhov, and Modjeska, and all the rest of those fiends. May their secret hiding place in Constantinople be burnt down, with them in it. I will tell the police everything, do you hear, Haeckel, and you, Zanazaryk, and you, Pestalozzi? The cause will be ruined and—’
    Afterwards Wallace blamed himself for what happened. His attention, like that of all his companions, was fixed on the shouting Casaroli. None of them noticed the sudden tenseness of Haeckel’s attitude. Abruptly, with incredible swiftness, the German lunged forward and, despite the fact that he was manacled, snatched up an automatic which someone had laid down on the table. Then, in quick succession, he fired at Casaroli, Pestalozzi and Zanazaryk, crying in a loud voice as he did so,
    ‘Let us all die; then none can speak. The cause is preserved. I—’
    Two or three other revolvers barked viciously. He stoodswaying a moment on his feet, a curious, enigmatical smile on his distorted features, then he crashed to the floor, twitched a moment, and lay still. The acrid fumes of powder filled the air as Sir Leonard examined the three sagging bodies in their chairs. Casaroli and Pestalozzi were dead, Zanazaryk undoubtedly dying.
    ‘Fetch a doctor – quick!’ he shouted. Two men hastened from the room. Sir Leonard turned to Brien with a bitter smile. ‘I thought we had achieved a triumph,’ he murmured to his friend, ‘but I am afraid this is one of the biggest failures of my career.’

CHAPTER FIVE
Major Brien Points the Way
    The happenings in the house on Shirland Road naturally caused a sensation in the country. The newspapers made a great deal of the story, though a good many facts were not permitted to leak out. For instance, though it was generally known that the men who had lost their lives were dangerous anarchists, the reason for their presence in England was kept a profound secret. Neither was any mention made of the discoveries of the agents of the Secret Service. In fact, that very silent organisation controlled by Sir Leonard Wallace did not appear in the matter at all. As ever, the work of the man upon whom Great Britain depends for its security, to an extent never realised by the public, was concealed from all but those in very high and administrative places.
    Zanazaryk lingered in unconsciousness for two days but, despite all the best surgeons in London could do for him, died at the expiration of that time. Thus Sir Leonard’shopes of obtaining the information he desired so keenly were disappointed. Haeckel he knew would never have spoken, but Pestalozzi, Casaroli, and possibly Zanazaryk might have been persuaded to betray the organisation which he had reason to believe existed for the purpose of ridding the world of royalty. Now they were all dead, and he would be forced to rely upon the little knowledge he possessed to carry him farther on his investigations. The raids carried out on the houses Pestalozzi was known to have visited had proved, as Sir Leonard had expected, entirely abortive.
    ‘I am convinced,’ he told Brien, ‘that a great blow is being aimed at royalty throughout the world. We heard enough from the words spoken by Casaroli and from the letter to Haeckel, to gather that a society exists, with its headquarters apparently in Constantinople, which is pledged to the extermination of royal