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EXTRACT: There was nothing about Ludwig Schoeffer's appearance to betray his nationality. He might, and frequently did, pass for an Englishman, while his command of English defied detection. He was of medium height and build, dark-haired and sallow-featured. There was nothing of Teutonic stolidity about his movements. On the other hand, he walked with the elasticity and easy carriage of an Anglo-Saxon athlete.
Von Bohme received his visitor in his study, drew a thick curtain over the door, and came to the point at once.
"I want you to proceed to England, Schoeffer," he began. "Usual terms—payment by results with immediate advance to meet current expenses. You know Brocklington?"
"I was there in May and June, 1915, Herr Bohme."
"Good; but I fancy you don't know the Brocklington Ironworks."
The spy considered a few moments. To admit that he did not might be a confession of lack of local knowledge. To say that he did when he was not sure of the fact was to lay himself open to being discredited. Then he considered that perhaps his employer was trying to catch him out.