dy."

"Your sense of humour seems a trifle perverted. I am more serious than
I ever was in my life. And I tell you very solemnly that you'll be
killed if you try to take those papers to Paris. Listen!"--she laid
one hand lightly on his arm--"Why should you involve yourself--you, an
American? This matter is no concern of yours----"

"What matter?"

"The matter concerning those papers. I tell you it does not concern
you; it is none of your business. Let me be frank with you: the papers
are of importance to a foreign government--to the German Government.
And in no way do they threaten your people or your country's welfare.
Why, then, do you interfere? Why do you use violence toward an agent
of a foreign and friendly government?"

"Why does a foreign and friendly government employ spies in a friendly
country?"

"All governments do."

"Is that so?"

"It is. America swarms with British and French agents."

"How do you know?"

"It's my business to know, Mr. Neeland."

"Then that _is_ your profession! You really are a spy?"

"Yes."

"And you pursue this ennobling profession with an enthusiasm which
does not stop short of murder!"

"I had no choice."

"Hadn't you? Your business seems to be rather a deadly one, doesn't
it, Scheherazade?"

"Yes, it might become so.... Mr. Neeland, I have no personal feeling
of anger for you. You offered me violence; you behaved brutally,
indecently. But I want you to understand that no petty personal
feeling incites me. The wrong you have done me is nothing; the injury
you threaten to do my country is very grave. I ask you to believe that
I speak the truth. It is in the service of my country that I have
acted. Nothing matters to me except my country's welfare. Individuals
are nothing; the Fatherland everything.... Will you give me back my
papers?"

"No. I shall return them to their owner."

"Is that final?"

"It is."

"I am sorry," she said.

A moment later the lights of Orangeville came into distant view across
the dark and rolling country.

CHAPTER XVI

SCHEHERAZADE

At the Orangeville garage Neeland stopped his car, put on his straw
hat, got out carrying suitcase and box, entered the office, and turned
over the care of the machine to an employee with orders to drive it
back to Neeland's Mills the next morning.

Then he leisurely returned to his prisoner who had given him her name
as Ilse Dumont and who was standing on the sidewalk beside the car.

"