ce by the light of the cab lamp, a
handsome, well-cut face, typical of a woman of Piedmont, for she had
spoken in a dialect unmistakably that of Turin. The Turinese are more
French than Italian, and are as different in both temperament and
language from those of the south as the people of the Ardennes differ
from those of Paris.

Both men shook hands with her warmly, bade her "_Addio_," and entering
the taxi, drove away back to London, while I stood still watching.

And as I gazed I saw as she walked back to the house, in the doorway,
silhouetted against the light, an old man coming forward towards her.

"_Dio!_" she cried, half in alarm at seeing him. Then in Italian, she
added, "Why do you risk being seen, you imbecile? Why didn't you keep
where you were?"

Then the door closed, and seeking my taxi I also returned to Bloomsbury.

But that incident had aroused a good deal of doubt and suspicion within
me. Who was that handsome young Italian woman whom the spies had visited
at that late hour? And, above all, who was that man with whom she had
been annoyed for showing himself?

Next day proved conclusively that some crooked business was in progress,
for while I sat alone eating my lunch in a corner of the big room at
Prince's Restaurant in Piccadilly, I was amazed to see the well-dressed
young Italian--the man whom I had seen emerge from Hartmann's in Pont
Street, enter with no other person than Nella Emden.

Surely the spies had already made considerable progress! My indignation
was such that I could have walked over to the table where the pair had
seated themselves, and denounced that elegant Italian as a spy of the
Kaiser. But I foresaw that by patience I might yet discover more that
would be of interest.

From my corner I watched the pair unnoticed. The girl was certainly
extremely good-looking, young, and by her manner I could see that she
was shy at being with a male companion alone in a public restaurant. He,
on his part, was exercising over her all the fascination of his nation.
Once or twice I saw him smile covertly across behind me, and when I had
an opportunity to glance round I realised, to my surprise, that the man
whom he had called Giovanni was lunching with the handsome Italian woman
from St. Margaret's.

It seemed that they were watching the young pair. For what reason, I
wondered?

I remained on the alert, but that day discovered nothing more, though I
followed the young pair back to Richmon