You know there isn't much use in swatting, as you say, the fly. No.

Better find the manure heap which hatched him and burn that!"

He smiled and shrugged, relighted his cigar, and continued:

"So, mon ami, I am here in your charming and hospitable city to direct the necessary sanitary measures, sub rosa, of course. You have been more than kind. My Government and I have you to thank for this batch of papers----" He tapped his breast pocket and made salutes which Frenchmen alone know how to make.

"Renoux," said Barres bluntly, "you have learned somehow that Nihla Quellen is under my protection. You conclude I am her lover."

The officer's face altered gravely, but he said nothing.

Barres leaned forward in his chair and laid a hand on his comrade's shoulder:

"Renoux, do you trust me, personally?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Then I shall trust you. Because there is nothing you can tell me about Nihla Quellen that I do not already know--nothing concerning her _dossier_ in your secret archives, nothing in regard to the evidence against her and the testimony of the Count d'Eblis. And that clears the ground between you and me."

If Renoux was surprised he scarcely showed it.

Barres said:

"As long as you know that she is under my protection, I want you to come to my place and talk to her. I don't ask you to accept my judgment in regard to her; I merely wish you to listen to what she has to say, and then come to your own conclusions. Will you do this?"

For a few moments Renoux sat quite still, his clear, intelligent eyes fixed on the smoking tip of his cigar. Without raising them he said slowly:

"As we understand it, Nihla Quellen has been a spy from the very beginning. Our information is clear, concise, logical. We know her history. She was the mistress of Prince Cyril, then of Ferez, then of d'Eblis--perhaps of the American banker, Gerhardt, also. She came directly from the German Emba.s.sy at Constantinople to Paris, on Gerhardt's yacht, the _Mirage_, and under his protection and the protection of Comte Alexandre d'Eblis.

"Ferez was of the party. And that companionship of conspirators never was dissolved as long as Nihla Quellen remained in Europe."

"That Nihla Quellen has ever been the mistress of any man is singularly untrue," said Barres coolly. "Your Government has to do with a chaste woman; and it doesn't even know that much!"

Renoux regarded him curiously:

"You have seen her dance?" he enquired gravely.

"Often. And, Renoux, you are too much a man of the world to be surprised at the unexpected. There _are_ white blackbirds."

"Yes, there are."

"Nihla Quellen is one."

"My friend, I desire to believe it if it would be agreeable to you."

"I know, Renoux; I believe in your good-will. Also, I believe in your honesty and intelligence. And so I do not ask you to accept my word for what I tell you. Only remember that I am absolutely certain concerning my belief in Nihla Quellen.... I have no doubt that you think I am in love with her.... I can't answer you. All Europe was in love with her. Perhaps I am.... I don't know, Renoux. But this I do know; she is clean and sweet and honest from the crown of her head to the sole of her foot. In her heart there has never dwelt treachery.

Talk to her to-night. You're like the best of your compatriots, clear minded, logical, intelligent, and full of that legitimate imagination without which intellect is a machine. You know the world; you know men; you don't know women and you know you don't. Therefore, you are equipped to learn the truth--to divine it--from Nihla Quellen. Will you come over to my place now?"

"Yes," said Renoux pleasantly.

The orchestra was playing as they pa.s.sed through the hotel; supper rooms, corridors, cafe and lobby were crowded with post-theatre throngs in search of food and drink and dance music; and although few theatres were open in July, Long Acre blazed under its myriad lights and the sidewalks were packed with the audiences filtering out of the various summer shows and into all-night cabarets.

They looked across at the distant war bulletins displayed on Times Square, around which the usual gesticulating crowd had gathered, but kept on across Long Acre, and west toward Sixth Avenue.

Midway in the block, Renoux touched his comrade silently on the arm, and halted.

"A few minutes, mon ami, if you don't mind--time for you to smoke a cigarette while waiting."

They had stopped before a brownstone house which had been converted into a bas.e.m.e.nt dwelling, and which was now recessed between two modern shops constructed as far as the building line.

All the shades and curtains in the house were drawn and the place appeared to be quite dark, but a ring at the bell brought a big, powerfully built porter, who admitted them to a brightly lighted reception room. Then the porter replaced the chains on the door of bronze.

"Just a little while, if you will be amiable enough to have patience,"

said Renoux.

He went away toward the rear of the house and Barres seated himself.

And in a few moments the burly porter reappeared with a tray containing a box of cigarettes and a tall gla.s.s of Moselle.

"Monsieur Renoux will not be long," he said, bringing a sheaf of French ill.u.s.trated periodicals to the little table at Barres' elbow; and he retired with a bow and resumed his chair in the corridor by the bronze door.

Through closed doors, somewhere from the rear of the silent house came the distant click of a typewriter. At moments, too, looking over the war pictures in the periodicals, Barres imagined that he heard a confused murmur as of many voices.

Later it became evident that there were a number of people somewhere in the house, because, now and then, the porter unlatched the door and drew the chains to let out some swiftly walking man.

Once two men came out together. One carried a satchel; the other halted in the hallway to slip a clip into an automatic pistol before dropping it into the side pocket of his coat.

And after a while Renoux appeared, bland, debonaire, evidently much pleased with whatever he had been doing.

Two other men appeared in the corridor behind him; he said something to them in a low voice; Barres imagined he heard the words, "Washington" and "Jusserand."

Then the two men went out, walking at a smart pace, and Renoux sauntered into the tiny reception room.

"You don't know," he said, "what a very important service you have rendered us by catching that fellow to-night and stripping him of his papers."

Barres rose and they walked out together.

"This city," added Renoux, "is fairly verminous with disloyal Huns.

The streets are crawling with them; every German resort, saloon, beer garden, keller, cafe, club, society--every German drug store, delicatessen shop, music store, tobacconist, is lousy with the treacherous swine.

"There are two great hotels where the boche gathers and plots; two great banking firms are centres of German propaganda; three great department stores, dozens of downtown commercial agencies; various buildings and piers belonging to certain transatlantic steamship lines, the offices of certain newspapers and periodicals.... Tell me, Barres, did you know that the banker, Gerhardt, owns the building in which you live?"

"Dragon Court!"

"You didn't know it, evidently. Yes, he owns it."

"Is he really involved in pro-German intrigue?" asked Barres.

"That is our information."