and largely laid the foundations for England's
success in snaring submarines, in policing the
channel, in watching the movements of Zeppelins
and Germany's high seas fleet.
One's first impression is quite different over there. The moment you cross the threshold of the Admiralty you face an air of secrecy and mystery. There are policemen to be passed, and you notice civilians who seem to be on some errand, also, but who watch you with too much interest. When your credentials have been examined a guide is furnished, and you need him, for he takes you down steps and up steps, through interminable dim corridors, extricating you from the demands of guards who appear here and there from the obscurity. He leaves you at last in front of a leather-covered door behind which a great silence broods.
The opening of that door alters everything. Dazzling light floods a large room through windows facing the Horse Guards' Parade. A fire burns briskly. There is a solidity about the room and its furnishings that goes with its air of unalterable purpose. Men move about, but immediately one figure catches the attention and holds it. On the padded fender sits a slender, wiry man in the conventional naval uniform. Above his smiling face a broad forehead recedes
