And here perhaps I may introduce my companion a little more fully. Gabrielle Soyez was a female agent of the British Secret Service, who had distinguished herself in her profession times out of number, both before and since the outbreak of war. Dark-haired and handsome, she inherited from her French father that seemingly irresponsible and irrepressible gaiety which so many of her countrywomen exhibit. From her English mother, no doubt, she had acquired the sterner, almost masculine, qualities which her femininity concealed but did not suppress. A splendid linguist, speaking several European tongues to perfection, she could, on occasion, pass as a native of some other countries. And one of her most amazing feats had been a journey right across Germany from Holland in wartime, in the character of a young German fraulein travelling to take up a position as governess in East Prussia. Added to her linguistic abilities, she possessed nerves of steel and a quick, subtle brain, which saw the real significance of many an almost unnoticeable incident. Nothing was too big or too small for her attention. I knew her well. I had worked with her in more than one affair of international importance, and it was at my suggestion that Armand Hecq, the astute chief of the French International Secret Service Bureau, had applied for her to assist in the difficult task that lay before us. "Something fresh this time?" queried the _chic_ little lady, as we drove along. "And, pray, who has applied for me?" "I have," was my reply. "A very difficult task is before me, involving the risk of many lives, and you are the only woman I know in whom I can place absolute trust." "Except Doris, eh?" she flashed out, turning to me with a quizzical smile. She was referring to Doris Rae, my well-beloved, who lived with her mother in a quaint old timbered house buried deep in Worcestershire. In the stress of my war-work I had seen her but seldom for the past two years, for I was constantly on the move, but the bond between us was none the less true and perfect. And I nodded to my companion, with a laugh. The time slipped by as I gave Madame Gabrielle her instructions. "To-day is Tuesday," I said as we parted. "I shall expect you on Friday in Paris at the Orleans station. The express for Bordeaux leaves at eight twenty-seven. Watch for me, and enter another compartment of the train without speaking. Somewhere on the journey I will contrive to hand you your passport." "But what is the nature of this inquiry, Monsieur Sant?" Madame Gabrielle broke out. "Well, to be frank," I replied, "the French Admiralty report that the enemy has established a new secret submarine base off the Spanish coast. We are out to find it, and, what is more, to carry out reprisals on the pirates." Madame, seeing a good chance of a desperate adventure, grinned with satisfaction. "_Tres bien_," was her only comment.