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 here. He was long on Kings. And Continental crises. I do not pretend to follow British domestic politics, but in the aeroplane business a man has to know something of international possibilities. At present, you British are settin' in kimonoes on dynamite kegs. Walen's talk put me wise on the location and size of some of the kegs. Ya-as!

'After that, we four went out to look at those golf-links I was hirin'. We each took a club. Mine'—he glanced at a great tan bag by the fireplace—'was the beginner's friend—the cleek. Well, sir, this golf proposition took a holt of me as quick as—quick as death. They had to prise me off the greens when it got too dark to see, and then we went back to the house. I was walkin' ahead with my Lord Marshalton talkin' beginners' golf. (I was the man who ought to have been killed by rights.) We cut 'cross lots through the woods to Flora's Temple—that place I showed you this afternoon. Lundie and Walen were, maybe, twenty or thirty rod behind us in the dark. Marshalton and I stopped at the theatre to admire at the ancestral yew-trees. He took me right under the biggest—King Somebody's Yew—and while I was spannin' it with my handkerchief, he says, "Look heah!" just as if it was a rabbit—and down comes a bi-plane into the theatre with no more noise than the dead. My Rush Silencer is the only one on the market that allows that sort of gumshoe work. . . . What? A bi-plane—with two men in it. Both men jump out and start fussin' with the engines. I was