I was suffering from a fit of physical and mental restlessness. I could not clear my mind of the idea that some imminent peril threatened O’Shea. That Nanette was involved, I feared, but tried hard not to believe. Experience of that Red organization known as the S Group had shown its members to be frankly unscrupulous; and Nanette had blindly involved herself with one of them. I knew why she had done it, but the man, Adolf Zara, could not know. For Nanette, Zara had ceased to exist. I doubted that the reverse was true. The peace of the morning and the beauty of the lake mocked me. In the long encounter between O’Shea and the S Group, honours had gone to the enemy. But the battle was not yet over. Instinct and common sense alike told me that the worst was yet to come. My ceaseless meditations along these lines had earned me a sleepless night, and I think I had sought out this spot beside the Serpentine with some vague idea of finding peace. Now, coming out of a brown study and looking up, I observed a figure approaching along the path. It was that of a girl very simply dressed in a gray walking suit, and wearing a tight-fitting hat, which I should have described as claret-coloured but for which the fashion journals no doubt have a better name. Her fingers listlessly interlocked, she came slowly along, looking down at the path and sometimes kicking a pebble aside. Never once did she look up, not even when she arrived before Peter Pan, until: “Good-morning, Nanette!” said I. Then she stopped as suddenly as though a physical obstacle had checked her. “Good heavens!” she replied, tore herself from a land of dreams and stared at me, smiling. But her smile was not exactly a happy one. “It’s like a musical comedy, isn’t it?” “Why?” I asked. “Well, everybody turning up at the same place for no reason!” “Not everybody,” said I. “Well--no.” Nanette hesitated, and then sat down beside me on the bench. “Not everybody.” “Curiously enough,” I went on, “I was thinking about you.” Nanette stared at the point of her shoe. “Must be telepathy,” she murmured. “Why? Were you thinking about me?” “Yes.” She nodded. “I shall never forgive myself for what I have done.” “You mean--about Adolf Zara?” “About Captain Slattery, yes.” She turned to me. “You see, I always think of him as ‘Slattery.’” “Does that make you like him any better, Nanette?” “No,” she admitted; “I have never liked him. But, well--you know how I felt about him? Does Major O’Shea know that I know?” “You mean,” I suggested, “does he know that you no longer suspect him of using you as a lure?” Nanette nodded without looking up. “I have had no opportunity of telling him,” said I. “But I expect to see him to-day.” I rested my hand upon hers, which lay listlessly on the seat beside her. “May I talk to you quite honestly?” “Of course,” said Nanette, but still did not look up.