on. You can't
miss the way."

"And St. Martin? Have you ever heard of it?"

She puckered her brows.

"Isn't that where some English people have a place? People
called--er--Waring, is it?"

"Bairling," said I.

"Bairling. That's it. Let's see. I'm afraid it's some miles from
Fladstadt."

"Twenty, I'm told."

"About that."

"And this is how far?"

"From Fladstadt? About twenty-three."

I groaned. "Forty-three miles to go, and a flat tire," I said.

"Now far's the next village?"

"Why?"

"I want to get another wheel on."

"If you like to wait here a little longer, my brother'll be back with
the car. He's on the way from Fladstadt now. That's why I'm sitting
up. He'll give you a jack."

"You're awfully good, Silvia. But have you forgotten what I said?"

"About sitting at my feet? No, but I don't think you meant it. If I
did, I should have rung long ago."

"Thank you," said I.

"Of course," she went on; "you're only a burglar, but you are--English."

"Yes, Silvia. I mightn't have been, though."

"You mean, I didn't know whether you were English or not, till after
you'd climbed up? Nor I did. But one of the men's up, and there's a
bell-push under the flap of the table."

She slipped a hand behind her. "I'm touching it now," she added.

"I wondered why you didn't sit in a chair," I said, with a slow smile.
A deep flush stole over the girl's features. For a moment she looked
at me with no laughter in her eyes. Then she slipped off the table and
moved across the room to an open bureau. She seemed to look for
something. Then she strolled back to the table and took her seat on
its edge once more.

"Is that a car coming?" she said suddenly, her dark eyes on the floor.

I listened. "I don't think so," I said, and stepped out on to the
balcony.

There was no sound at all. It was the dead of night indeed. I glanced
over the balustrade at the car. Her headlights burned steadily, making
the moonlit road ahead more bright.

"I can hear nothing," I said, coming back into the boudoir.

"Look," said Silvia, pointing over my shoulder.

As I turned, something struck me on the cheek. I stooped and picked it
up. A piece of flexible cord about five inches long. I swung round
and looked at the girl. On the table a pair of scissors lay by her
side.

"Why have you done this?" I demanded.

She raised her eyebrows by way of answer and reached for a cigarette.
As she lighted it,