"That was generous of you, Barbara," Desmond said gently.

She sighed.

"Daddy knew her as a little girl," she answered, "and he was so pleased to see her again that night. She never had a chance. I hope she'll get one now!"

"They're going to intern her, I believe," said Desmond, "until the end of the war; they could do nothing else, you know. But she will be well looked after, and I think she will be safer in our charge than if she were allowed to remain at liberty. The German Secret Service has had a bad knock, you know. Somebody has got to pay for it!"

"I know," the girl whispered, "and it frightens me."

"You poor child!" said Desmond, "you've had a rough time. But it's all over now. And that reminds me, Barney is coming up for sentence to-day; they charged him with murder originally; but Marigold kept on getting him remanded until they were able to alter the charge to one of burglary. He'll probably get two years' hard labor, Marigold says."

"Poor Barney!" said Barbara, "I wish they would let him go free.

All these weeks the mystery of poor Daddy's death has so weighed upon my mind that now it has been cleared up I feel as though one day I might be happy again. And I want everybody to be happy, too!"

"Barbara," said Desmond and took her hand.

Barbara calmly withdrew it from his grasp and brushed an imaginary curl out of her eye.

"Any news of your hundred thousand pound kit?" she asked, by way of turning the conversation.

"By Jove," said Desmond, "there was a letter from c.o.x's at the club this morning but I was so rushed to catch my train that I shoved it in my pocket and forgot all about it. I wrote and asked them weeks ago to get my kit back from France. Here we are!"

He pulled a letter out of his pocket, slit open the envelope and took out a printed form. Barbara, propping herself up with one hand on his shoulder, leaned over him to read the communication.

This is what she read.

"We are advised," the form ran, "that a Wolseley valise forwarded to you on the 16th inst. from France has been lost by enemy action. We are enclosing a compensation form which..."

But neither troubled to read further.

"Gone to the bottom, by Jove!" cried Desmond. "But isn't it strange," he went on, "to think of the Star of Poland lying out there on the bed of the Channel? Well, I'm not so sure that it isn't the best place for it. It won't create any further trouble in this world at least!"

"Poor Nur-el-Din!" sighed the girl.

They sat awhile in silence together and watched the gulls circling unceasingly above the receding tide.

"You're leaving here to-morrow then?" said Desmond presently.

Barbara nodded

"And going back to your work with the Chief?"

Barbara nodded again.

"It's not good enough," cried Desmond. "This is no job for a girl like you, Barbara. The strain is too much; the risks are too great. Besides, there's something I wanted to say..."

Barbara stopped him.

"Don't say it!" she bade him.

"But you don't know what I was going to say!" he protested.

Barbara smiled a little happy smile.

"Barbara..." Desmond began.

Her hand still rested on his shoulder and he put his hand over hers. For a brief moment she let him have his way.

Then she withdrew her hand.

"Desmond," she said, looking at him with kindly eyes, "we both have work to do..."

"We have," replied the man somberly, "and mine's at the front!"

The girl shook her head.

"No!" she said. "Henceforward it's where the Chief sends you!"

Desmond set his jaw obstinately.

"I may have been a Secret Service agent by accident," he answered, "but I'm a soldier by trade. My place is in the fighting-line!"

"The Secret Service has its fighting-line, too," Barbara replied, "though the war correspondents don't write about it. It never gets a mention in despatches, and Victoria Crosses don't come its way. The newspapers don't publish its casualty list, though you and I know that it's a long one. A man slips quietly away and never comes back, and after a certain lapse of time we just mark him off the books and there's an end of it. But it's a great service; and you've made your mark in it. The Chief wants men like you. You'll have to stay!"

Desmond was about to speak; but the girl stopped him. "What do you and I matter," she asked, "when the whole future of England is at stake! If you are to give of your best to this silent game of ours, you must be free with no responsibilities and no ties, with nothing that will ever make you hesitate to take a supreme risk. And I never met a man that dared more freely than you!"

"Oh, please..." said Desmond and got up.

He stood gazing seawards for a while.

Then he glanced at his watch.

"I must be going back to London," he said. "I have to see the Chief at four this afternoon. And you know why!"

The girl nodded.

"What will you tell him?" she asked. "Will you accept his offer to remain on in the Secret Service?"

Desmond looked at her ruefully.

"You're so eloquent about it," he said slowly, "that I think I must!"

Smiling, she gave him her hand. Desmond held it for an instant in his.

Then, without another word, he turned and strode off towards the winding white road that led to the station.

Barbara watched him until a turn in the road hid him from her sight. Then she pulled out her handkerchief.

"Good Heavens, girl!" she said to herself, "I believe you're crying!"