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even have a few modern tanks and a thousand or so automatic rifles when the great showdown came, as come it must. Perhaps Chamberlain was coming to tell the unfortunate Poles that, if they could not see their way to meeting Hitler’s demands concerning Danzig, their blood would be upon their own heads. By no conceivable means could Britain give one iota of military support to Poland, if she were attacked, and the Duke, being a realist to his fingertips, believed that no statesman should allow sentiment to jeopardise the safety of his country. Sorry as he was for the Poles, he hoped that Chamberlain would decide that discretion was once more the better part of valour and gain Britain just a little more time.
    Next morning the Duke woke to the noise of an aeroplane droning overhead, and, when it ceased suddenly, he left his bed with unusual alacrity. Looking out of the window he saw that the plane had landed a few hundred yards away, and that two men were just climbing out of it. One was tall and thin, the other somewhat shorter, with square shoulders and a slight limp. They were still too far off for him to make out the details of their features, but he knew at once that neither of them was Chamberlain, Daladier, Molotov or Mussolini.
    As they approached the house he saw that the square-shouldered fellow was about thirty years of age, and had a strong, almost brutal, face, with a jutting chin and thick, fleshy mouth. The other was much older, grey-haired, distinguished-looking, with a mouth like a rat-trap and a thin, aristocratic, aquiline nose not unlike the Duke’s own.
    Neither of the two bore the least resemblance to any well-known statesman, although the Duke had an idea that he hadseen the taller man somewhere before. But they passed round the side of the house before he could verify the impression.
    It was still only seven o’clock, and as de Richleau always had his breakfast served in bed he had to restrain his impatience to learn more of the new arrivals until his normal time of appearing downstairs, which was round about half past ten.
    As he came down the broad stairway into the big lounge-hall, with its antler-hung walls, he saw a little group of men gathered at its far end; General Mack and the two strangers were among them. They were talking in low voices, but a few sentences floated up to the approaching Duke. As he caught them he stiffened slightly. They had acted as a key to unlock a cell in his brain, and he rembered now the identity of the tall, aristocratic man whom he had seen arriving a few hours earlier.
    The new guest was General Count von Geisenheim, a Prussian officer of the old school, who was high in the councils of the German General Staff.

3
Coffin for ‘Uncle’
    The shock of learning that the men responsible for Poland’s destiny were secretly negotiating with Poland’s potential enemies, the Germans, was enough to make even de Richleau catch his breath, but after a barely perceptible pause he proceeded onward down the stairs.
    General Mack turned and saw him and, with a wave of his hand, introduced the two Germans. He made no attempt to conceal their identity, and the younger, coarse-faced man proved to be a Major Bauer. Both men bowed sharply from the waist, then relaxed into smiling affability, von Geisenheim remarking that he recalled meeting the Duke some years before at a shooting party in the Schwartzwald.
    Europe was still at peace. No one could question the Poles’ right to entertain Germans privately or officially if they chose todo so. There were probably several hundred Germans still freely walking about London, and certainly several thousand Britons enjoying the August sunshine on their summer holidays in Germany. The Duke’s amiability rivalled that of the Count as he enquired after mutual friends, but behind his smile his mind was seriously perturbed.
    His perturbation was not lessened when, after luncheon, the plump little Baron led him out on to the terrace and, with