Ruth could not help coloring. “I need to see him, Hubert. Tell me where I can find him and I shall go there.” “I’ll see that he comes here,” Hubert offered, a little belligerently. “Perhaps that is better,” Ruth accepted. Her orders from the Germans had been to cultivate her acquaintance with Gerry Hull; yet, if they were watching her now, it was better to have them see him come to her. “But you must get him at once,” she said. Hubert succeeded within the hour, for it was not yet five in the afternoon when Gerry Hull appeared on the Rue des Saints Pères, found the little _pension_ and rang. Ruth had him ushered into a small private parlor, where she and Milicent entertained; she saw him there alone. He did not pretend that he had been about to call upon her when she summoned him; nor did he apologize for not having called before. He was glad to see her, particularly when it became plain that she had sent for him for help in an emergency. “I have received information, which I am quite sure is reliable,” she said to him after she had closed the door and they sat down, “but which I wish to have used anonymously, if it is at all possible.” “Information against someone?” he asked. “Against a man who goes by the name of Louis de Trevenac,” she said in a low voice. The placards all about Paris warning, _Be on guard! Enemy ears listen!_ influenced her even behind the closed doors. Gerry Hull started. Not greatly, for he had been in France long enough to hear accusations--false or true--against almost anyone. “You know him?” Ruth asked. “He is well known,” Gerry said. “I’ve heard of him.” “I am absolutely certain that he is a German spy.” “How do you know?” “If I wanted to tell how I know, I would not have sent for you. It was not easy,” Ruth said with a gentle sweetness which caught him with a flush. “I thought it was possible that you would know a method of starting inquiry regarding one without having to give details of the cause of your suspicion.” Gerry nodded. “That’s possible.” “Then please do that in regard to M. Louis de Trevenac. At once!” He regarded her, conscious of having to make an effort to consider what she asked without feeling for her. The attraction to her which instantly had given him curiosity about her that first time they met--attraction not merely to her warm, glowing vitality, but to the purpose which imbued her and to the challenge of her eager, honest mind--was swaying him. He got for a moment, and quite without his will, the feeling of her lithe, round little form warm against him, though she was drenched by the sea, that time he carried her. He banished that deliberately by recalling the offense she had given him of the criticism, as he had taken it and as he still took it, of his comrades, and of himself, and of the great beliefs for which and in which he lived.