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Over my cup of coffee I looked at the Danish paper, and could read only two words, “Doctor Cook.” A young waiter served me, and when I found that he spoke English, I asked him if Doctor Cook, the explorer, had arrived in Copenhagen.

“No,” said the waiter. “He ought to have been here at midday. But there’s a fog in the Cattegat, and his boat will not come in until to-morrow morning. All Denmark is waiting for him.”

So he had not arrived! Well, I might be in time, after all. I looked round for any journalist I might know, but did not see a familiar face.

Presently, as I sat smoking a cigarette, I perceived a suddenly awakened interest among the people in the café. It was due to the arrival of a very pretty lady in a white fur toque, with a white fox-skin round her neck, accompanied by another young lady, and a tall Danish fellow with tousled hair. They took their seats at the far end of the café.

The young waiter came up to me and whispered with some excitement:

“Did you see that beautiful lady? That is Mrs. Rasmussen!”