'Those nights,' he muttered, 'when we thought that an hour's rest had come, and the red fires came spitting from our flanks just when we thought ourselves safe, when we thought them far and away behind----' His words became unintelligible. He sat quite quiet. Presently, to her joy, she saw a carpet of lights on either side and knew that they were running into London. 'You had better get back to your saloon,' she said. 'We shall be at Charing Cross in a few minutes, and there will probably be some one to meet you.' He rose obediently to his feet. The tears were in her eyes as he turned away with a stiff little salute, and, stooping low, disappeared through the doorway. Then she leaned back with a long-drawn sigh of relief. It was a strange little episode, another of the little adventures which gave colour to her life. She leaned out of the window and saw the last of him as they drew up. He was met by an officer and an elderly lady. She saw him pass out and take his place in a waiting motor-car. Then she stepped out herself, handed her bag to a porter and was conducted to a taxicab. * * * * * Suzanne sat, the next afternoon, under the trees at Ranelagh with Lavendale. She leaned back in her chair and breathed a little sigh of contentment. 'And you, my friend,' she asked, 'what have you been doing? 'Nothing,' he answered. I am waiting for a man to arrive from America. His coming, I fancy, will provide me with work, but until then there is nothing for me. To pass the time while you were in France, I went over to Holland last week.' She nodded. 'The one country left which may provide us with a sensation,' she remarked. 'I suppose that is why you went.' 'I made a few inquiries,' he replied. 'My own impression of the people was that they wanted peace very badly and Schnapps more than anything else in the world.' She laughed softly. It was significant of his attitude towards her that he asked no questions of her own doings. 'I had a curious adventure on my way back from Paris yesterday,' she told him. 'I travelled up from Boulogne in a special with General Matravers.' 'Matravers?' he repeated. 'Isn't he one of the British Generals who have been sent home?' 'I believe so,' she assented, 'in fact I am sure of it. He told me the whole story on the way up. Afterwards he brought out a revolver and swore that he was going to shoot himself.' 'What on earth did you do?' he exclaimed. 'I took it away from him,' she replied. 'He wasn't in the least dangerous, really.' 'Look here,' Lavendale declared earnestly, 'I think it's quite time you left off this travelling about alone.' She laughed gaily. 'But, my friend,' she protested, 'what would you have? Can a trusted agent'--she glanced around for a moment and lowered her voice--'of the French and English Secret Service engage a chaperon?'