CHAPTER III

John Wood of Belgium Spike looked at his watch. It wanted five minutes to one, but he had hardly seated himself to wait for his host before the remarkable John Wood came quickly through the swing doors. He was a tall man, prematurely grey, with a face of singular beauty. The eyes lived, and the sensitive mouth seemed to speak even when it was in repose. He gripped the reporter's hand warmly. "I'm not late?" he asked. "I've been very busy all the morning. I want to catch the half-past two train to the Continent, and…