“What I wanted to say was this,” Van Blarcom continued in his usual manner--the manner that I now recognized to be a subtler form of the policeman’s, respectful to those he held for law-abiding, alert and watchful to detect gentry of any other kind. “This line we’re traveling on now is one the spies use quite a bit. They used to go to London straight or else to Bordeaux and Paris; but the English and French got a pretty strict watch going, and now it’s easier for them to slip into France through Italy, by Modane. They sail for Naples mostly, do you see? And--you won’t repeat this?--it’s fairly sure that when Franz von Blenheim sends his government a report of what he’s done in Mexico against us, he’ll send it by an agent who travels on this line and lands in Italy and then slips into Germany by way of Switzerland.” We were drifting slowly into the harbor of Gibraltar, the rock looming over us through the blackness, a gigantic mountain, a mass of tiered and serried lights. Search-lights, too, shot out like swords, focused on us, and swept us as we crept forward between dimly visible, anchored craft. The throbbing of our engines ceased. A launch chugged toward us, bringing the officers of the port. I watched, pleased with the scene, and rather taken with my companion’s discourse. It was not unlike a dime novel of my youth. “Do you mean you’ve been sent on this line to watch for one of Blenheim’s agents?” I inquired. “No. I’m sent for some work on the other side--and I’m not telling you what it is, either,” he rejoined. “What I meant was that a man has to be careful, traveling on these ships. They watch close. They have to. Haven’t you noticed that whenever two or three of us get to talking, a steward comes snooping round? Well, I suppose you wouldn’t, it not being your business; but I have. We’re watched all the time; and if we’re wise, we’ll mind our step. Take you, for instance. You’re a good American, eh? And yet some spy might fool you with a cute story and get your help and maybe play you for a sucker on the other side. I saw that happen once. It was a nice young chap, and a pretty girl fooled him--got him into a peck of trouble. What you want to remember is that good spies never seem like spies.” If I looked as I felt just then, the search-light that swept me must have startled him. I could feel my face flushing, my hands clenching as I caught his drift. I swung round. “What’s this about?” I demanded sharply. But I knew. “Well,” said the secret-service man discreetly, “I saw something pretty funny the first night out, Mr. Bayne. It was safe enough with me; I can tell a gentleman from a spy; but if an officer had seen it, the thing wouldn’t have been a joke. Suppose we put it this way. There’s a person on board I think I know. I haven’t got the goods, I’ll own, but I don’t often make mistakes. My advice to you, sir, is to steer clear of strangers. And if I were you, I--”