ot
permit her to play such a part? Partow's voice cut in on his
demoralization with the sharpness of a blade.

"Well, what, man, what?" he demanded. He feared that the girl might be
dead. Anything that could upset Lanstron in this fashion struck a chord
of sympathy and apprehension.

Lanstron advanced to the table, pressed his hands on the edge, and, now
master of himself, began an account of Marta's offer. Partow's formless
arms lay inert on the table, his soft, pudgy fingers outspread on the
map and his bulk settled deep in the chair, while his eagle eyes were
seeing through Lanstron, through a mountain range, into the eyes of a
woman and a general on the veranda of an enemy's headquarters. The plan
meant giving, giving in the hope of receiving much in return. Would he
get the return?

"A woman was the ideal one for the task we intrusted to Feller," he
mused, "a gentlewoman, big enough, adroit enough, with her soul in the
work as no paid woman's could be! There seemed no such one in the
world!"

"But to let her do it!" gasped Lanstron.

"It is her suggestion, not yours? She offers herself? She wants no
persuasion?" Partow asked sharply.

"Entirely her suggestion," said Lanstron. "She offers herself for her
country--for the cause for which our soldiers will give their lives by
the thousands. It is a time of sacrifice."

Partow raised his arms. They were not formless as he brought them down
with sledge-hammer force to the table.

"Your tendon of Achilles? My boy, she is your sword-arm!" His sturdy
forefinger ran along the line of frontier under his eye with little
staccato leaps. "Eh?" he chuckled significantly, finger poised.

"Let them up the Bordir road and on to redoubts 36 and 37, you mean?"
asked Lanstron.

"You have it! The position looks important, but so well do we command it
that it is not really vital. Yes, the Bordir road is her bait for
Westerling!" Partow waved his hand as if the affair were settled.

"But," interjected Lanstron, "we have also to decide on the point of the
main defence which she is to make Westerling think is weak."

"Hm-m!" grumbled Partow. "That is not necessary to start with. We can
give that to her later over the telephone, can't we, eh?"

"She asked for it now."

"Why?" demanded Partow with one of his shrewd, piercing looks.

"She did not say, but I can guess," explained Lanstron. "She must put
all her cards on the table; she must tell Westerling all she knows at
o