E. Phillips Oppenheim

“ MR. JOSEPH P. CRAY followed the usual routine observed by members of the “Americans in London” society on the occasion of their weekly lunches. He left his coat and hat in the cloak-room, and deposited the ticket which he received in exchange in his waistcoat pocket. Afterward he slipped into the anteroom, where a little crowd of men were thronging around a narrow counter, exchanging hearty greetings, and indulging in various forms of pre-luncheon nourishment. ”

“ I am over here, Schreed, my lad, till the United States comes to its senses and until then over here I mean to stop. What about yourself?”
Mr. Schreed had been exceedingly close-mouthed about his own movements, but this morning he spoke with more freedom of his plans. ”

“ It is finished.”
“Not on your life,” Mr. Cray replied. “Ten thousand cans of your beef, Otto Schreed, contained poison. No wonder you were glad to get out of it, as you thought, with a fine. Now we'll move on a step. You've just come back from Holland.
“You may not have known it, but Mr. Neville here, of the American Intelligence Department, was our fellow-passenger. You cashed five drafts at the Amsterdam Bank, amounting in all to something like five hundred thousand dollars of American money. ”

“ The two men were obliged to drag him out. Mr. Cray moved to the window and threw it open.
“What we want,” he muttered, “is fresh air.”
Colonel Wilmot smiled.
“He was a poisonous beast, Cray,” he said, “but you've done a fine piece of work for the United States Government, and we're anxious to drink your health.” ”

“ Cray and three other guests awaiting him. Mr Cray was busy mixing cocktails, so was unable to shake hands. He looked around and nodded.
“Glad you're punctual, Schreed,” he said. “Pleasant trip?”
“Fine!”
“Business turn out all right?”
“Couldn't have been better. Wont you introduce me to these gentlemen, Cray?”
“Sure!” Mr. Cray replied. “Gentlemen, this is Mr. Otto Schreed—Colonel Wilmot, of the American Intelligence Department, Mr. Neville of the same service, and Doctor Lemarten.” ”

“ Mr. Cray declared. “What you have to do, Jean, is to pack those two cans securely and to send them to me at once by registered post to the Ritz Hotel, Paris.”
“One of us,” he confided, “is not dining. That one, Otto Schreed, is you.”
“It shall be done, monsieur.”
“Were there any who died after eating the stuff?” Mr. Cray inquired.
“Two,” the little grocer answered. “They are buried in the civic cemetery. One has talked but little of these things; the Americans came as saviors ”

“ Mr. Cray declared. “It shall be some celebration, I can tell you. We'll dine in the hotel here, and I promise there shall be one or two people you'll be interested in meeting.”
So on the following morning Mr. Otto Schreed started for Holland, and Mr. Joseph P. Cray, with a brown paper parcel under his arm, set out to pay a few calls in Paris. ”

“ Mr. Cray replied vigorously. “Not a franc, Jean! We both did good work, eh, when those guns were thundering and Fritz was skulking behind the hills there. Finished, Jean! I am a rich man, and what you call a loan was my thank-offering. We did our best together for the poor people, you know.”
“But monsieur—” the little grocer sobbed.
“About those cans,” Mr. Cray interrupted the man. “You have two?” ”

“ The complaint was made from some of the villagers, and the unopened cans were returned and burned. There is a drug-store at the farther end of the village where it would be as well to make inquiries The chauffeur might take you there, and I will explain to him what you want to ask for. Meanwhile I will see the curé.”
Mr. Schreed saw nothing to object to in the arrangement, and drove off with the chauffeur. Monsieur Lalarge, with the tears streaming down his cheeks, threw his arms around Mr. Cray and kissed him.
“Heaven has brought you back!” he exclaimed. “Our deliverer—our saint! ”

“ The Department insisted upon that.”
“Rather like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Mr. Cray remarked.
As they entered, the landlord from the estaminet opposite issued from the back quarters.
“Not so much,” the other replied. “I know the name of. the place where our men were billeted when they opened the stuff, and the name of the village to which they sent fifty cans. I thought I'd just look around there, and if there are no traces of any—well, I've done the best I could. Then I thought some of coming home by way of Holland.”
“Business in Holland, eh?” Mr. Cray inquired. ”