n Moorish robes, and extended on a
divan in Oriental indolence against a scene cloth which outdid the
luxuries of Llalla Rookh.

"That's the lady, I think."

Medina gazed at the picture with delight. He touched his lips with his
fingers, and threw a kiss to it. His sharp, sallow face suddenly
flowered into smiles.

"Yes. What a woman! She has real intelligence," he exclaimed fervently.

Jose Medina was in the habit of losing his heart and keeping his head a
good many times in an ordinary year.

"It's an extraordinary thing," Martin Hillyard remarked, "that however
intelligent they are, not one of these young ladies can resist the
temptation to have her portrait taken in Moorish dress at the
photographer's in the Alhambra."

Jose Medina saw nothing at all grotesque or ridiculous in this
particular foible.

"They make such charming pictures," he cried.

"And it is very useful for us, too," remarked Hillyard. "The
photographer is a friend of mine."

Jose was still gazing at the photograph.

"Such a brain, my friend! She never told a story the second time
differently, however emotional the moment. She never gave away a
secret."

"She probably didn't know any," said Hillyard.

But Jose would not hear of such a reason.

"Oh, yes! She has great influence. She knows people in Berlin--great
people. She is their friend, and I cannot wonder. What an intelligence!"

Martin Hillyard laughed.

"She seems to have fairly put it over you at any rate," he said. He was
not alarmed at Jose Medina's fervour. For he knew that remarkable man's
capacity for holding his tongue even in the wildest moments of his
temporary passions. But he took the photograph away from Medina and
locked it up again. The rapturous reminiscences of Rosa Hahn's
intelligence checked the flow of that story which was to lead him to
B45.

"So you know about her?" Jose said with an envious eye upon the locked
drawer.

"A little," said Martin Hillyard.

Rosa Hahn was a clerk in the office of the Hamburg-Amerika Line before
the war, and in the Spanish Department. She was sent to Spain in the
last days of July, 1914, upon Government work, and at a considerable
salary, which she enjoyed. She seemed indeed to have done little else,
and Berlin, after a year, began to complain. Berlin had a lower opinion
of both her social position and her brains than Jose Medina had formed.
Berlin needed results, and failing to obtain them, proceeded to hint
more and