little affair in Marienbad, which ended rather unpleasantly for a
certain hosiery manufacturer from Chemnitz named Mueller."

Her faced blanched, her eyes grew terrified, and her nails clenched
themselves into her white palms.

"Ah! Then you--you have found me, m'sieur, for purposes of
revenge--you--you intend to give me over to the police because of the
fraud I practised upon you! But I ask you to have pity for me," she
begged in French. "I am a woman--and--and I swear to you that I was
forced to act towards you as I did."

"You forced open my despatch-box, believing that I carried valuables
there, and found, to your dismay, only a few papers."

"I was compelled to do so by Banfield," she said simply. "He mistook you
for another man, a diplomat, and believed that you had certain important
documents with you."

"Then he made a very great mistake," I laughed. "And after your clever
love-making with me you only got some extracts from a Government report,
together with a few old letters."

"From those letters we discovered who you really were," mademoiselle
said. "And then we were afraid."

I smiled.

"Afraid that I would pay Banfield back in his own coin, eh?"

"I was afraid. He was not, for he told me that if you attempted any
reprisal, he would at once denounce you to the Germans."

"Thanks. I'm glad you've told me that," I said, with feigned unconcern.
Truth to tell, however, I was much upset by the knowledge that the
cunning American who so cleverly evaded the police had discovered my
present vocation.

Yet, after all, had not the explanation of the pretty girl before me
rather strengthened my hand?

"Well, Suzette," I said, with a moment's reflection, "I have not sought
you in order to threaten you. On the contrary, I am extremely anxious
that we should be friends. Indeed, I want you, if you will, to do me a
service."

She looked me straight in the face, apparently much puzzled.

"I thought you were my enemy," she remarked.

"That I am not. If you will only allow me, I will be your friend."

Her fine eyes were downcast, and I fancied I detected in them the light
of unshed tears. How strange it was that upon her attitude towards me
should depend a nation's welfare!

"First, you must forgive me for my action at Caux," she said in a low,
earnest voice, scarce above a whisper. "You know my position, alas! I
dare not disobey that man who holds my future so irrevocably in his
hands."

"He threatens