"How about the nurses and drivers in France?" "Oh, of course. I mean nice girls, like yourself, who do near-war work here in New York--" "You ARE brutal!" she exclaimed. "I am mad to go to France! It is a sacrifice--a renunciation for me to remain in New York. I understand nursing and I know how to drive a car; but I have stayed here because my knowledge of ciphers seemed to fit me for this work." "I was teasing you," he said gently. "I know it. But there is SO much truth in what you say about near-war work. I hate that sort of woman.... Why do you laugh?" "Because you're just a child. But you are full of ability and possibility, Miss Erith." "I wish my ability might land me in France!" "Surely, surely," he murmured. "Do you think it will, Mr. Vaux?" "Maybe it will," he said, not believing it. He added: "I think, however, your undoubted ability is going to land us both in jail." At which pessimistic prognosis they both began to laugh. She was very lovely when she laughed. "I hope they'll give us the same cell," she said. "Don't you?" "Surely," he replied gaily. Once he remembered the photograph of Arethusa in his desk at headquarters, and thought that perhaps he might need it before the evening was over. "Surely, surely," he muttered to himself, "hum--hum!" Her coupe stopped in Fifty-sixth Street near Madison Avenue. "The car will wait here," remarked the girl, as Vaux helped her to descend. "Lauffer's shop is just around the corner." She took his arm to steady herself on the icy sidewalk. He liked it. In the bitter darkness there was not a soul to be seen on the street; no tramcars were approaching on Madison Avenue, although far up on the crest of Lenox Hill the receding lights of one were just vanishing. "Do you see any policemen?" she asked in a low voice. "Not one. They're all frozen to death, I suppose, as we will be in a few minutes." They turned into Madison Avenue past the Hotel Essex. There was not a soul to be seen. Even the silver-laced porter had retired from the freezing vestibule. A few moments later Miss Erith paused before a shop on the ground floor of an old-fashioned brownstone residence which had been altered for business. Over the shop-window was a sign: "H. Lauffer, Frames and Gilding." The curtains of the shop-windows were lowered. No light burned inside. Over Lauffer's shop was the empty show-window of another shop--on the second floor--the sort of place that milliners and tea-shop keepers delight in--but inside the blank show-window was pasted the sign "To Let." Above this shop were three floors, evidently apartments. The windows were not lighted. "Lauffer lives on the fourth floor," said Miss Erith. "Will you please give me the jimmy, Vaux?"