He smiled, lowering his gaze to the ash of his cigarette.

"You speak in riddles."

"It's your trade to solve them."

"Do not underestimate my intelligence, I understand you," he laughed.

"It is a fortunate thing for me that you are not a secret agent. My occupation would be gone."

"It is a villainous occupation."

"Why?"

"Because no secret agent can be himself. It's rather a pity, because I'd like to like you."

"And don't you--a little?"

"I might if I thought that I could believe in you. If a man is not true to himself, he cannot be true to those that wish to be his friends."

He was silent for a moment.

"I think perhaps," he said quietly at last, "that you do me an injustice. I am merely the servant of my government----"

"Which, stops at no means--even death."

"I too look death in the face, Countess," he said with a slow smile. "It lurks in every byway--hangs in every bush."

"It is frightful," she sighed, "to live like that, preying upon others, and being preyed upon--when the world is so beautiful."

"The world is just what men have made it. I, too, once dreamed----" His words trailed off into silence, and he looked out of the window into the night.

"And now?" she asked.

Something in the tone of her voice made him straighten and glance at her. He had seen the same look in other women's eyes.

"And now, I dream no more, Countess Strahni," he said abruptly.

Marishka's gaze fell before his.

"I am sorry," she said.

There was another silence in which Captain Goritz took out another cigarette.

"I do not think that I quite--understand you, Countess Strahni----"

"Naturally," she broke in. "You have known me--let us see--a little less than twelve hours."

Her smile disarmed him.

"You are far from transparent, Countess," he said quizzically.

"And if I were?"

"It would probably be because you wished me to see something beyond,"

with a laugh.

"To one who deals in mystery and intrigue, sincerity must always be bewildering."

"H--m! I was once stabbed in the back by a woman who was too sincere."

The smile left Marishka's face. "How terrible!"

"It was. I nearly died. It was my mistake, you see."

Marishka was silent for a long moment. And then,

"I'm afraid, Captain Goritz, that the world has left you bitter."

"To the secret agent the world is neither sweet nor bitter. He has no sense of taste or of feeling. He is merely a pair of ears--a pair of eyes which nothing must escape----"

"Deaf to music--blind to beauty," sighed Marishka. "From the bottom of my heart I pity you."

Captain Goritz gazed at her for a long moment, in silence, then his eyes narrowed slightly and his voice was lowered.

"It is rather curious, Countess Strahni, that you should hold in such low esteem a profession practiced by one of your most favored friends."

"Mine?" she questioned, startled.

"Herr Renwick," he replied dryly, "is a secret agent of the Serbian government."

A gasp escaped her, and she struggled for her composure at the mention of Hugh Renwick's name.

"That is impossible."

"I beg your pardon," he said politely, "I happen to know it to be the truth."

She laughed uneasily.

"Until two weeks ago Herr Renwick was an attache of the British Embassy," she asserted.

"Of course. But he has been also in the pay of the Serbian government--Austria's enemy."

"You are misinformed," she gasped.

"I beg your pardon. England and Serbia are on excellent terms. You will not deny that Herr Renwick has been to Belgrade in the last two weeks?"

"You--you----" she paused in consternation, aware again of this man's omniscience.

"The details had not been clear until my return to Vienna. Think for a moment. Herr Renwick visits Belgrade and Sarajevo while a plan is arranged to take the life of the Archduke Franz. It is well within the bounds of possibility----"