I don’t know just what he saw in my eyes; but it seemed to bother him. He fidgeted a little; as he approached the crucial point, his gaze evaded mine. “Now, then, we’ll come down to brass tacks, Mr. Bayne,” said he. “I don’t know what kind of story the girl told you; but I know it wasn’t the truth or you wouldn’t be here. That’s sure. She’s a German agent; she’s come to get the Germans some papers that they want about as bad as anything under heaven. There’s one man who tried the job already. He got killed for his pains; but he hid the papers before he died, and she knows where; and she’s on her way to get them and carry the business through. I don’t say she hasn’t plenty of courage. Why, she’s gone up against the whole of France; but I guess you’re not very anxious to be mixed up in this underhand, spying sort of matter, eh?” My hands were doubling themselves with automatic vigor. I wanted--consumedly--to knock the fellow down. However, I controlled myself. “What’s your offer?” I asked. “It’s this.” He was obviously relieved, positively swelling in his tolerant, good-humored patronage. “I said once before I was sorry for you, and that still goes; we won’t be hard on you if we have got the whip-hand, Mr. Bayne. You just stay in your room to-morrow until she’s gone and we’re gone, and you needn’t be afraid your name will ever figure in this thing. I’ve made it all right with my friends in the next room. They know a pretty girl can fool a man sometimes, and they’ve got a soft spot for Americans, like all the Frenchies here. Take it from me, you’d better draw out quietly, instead of being arrested, tried, shot, or imprisoned maybe--or being sent home with an unproved charge hanging over you, and having all your friends fight shy of you as a suspected pro-German. Isn’t that so?” “You certainly,” I agreed, “draw a most uninviting picture. I’ll have to consider this, Mr. Van Blarcom, if you’ll give me time?” “Sure!” with his hearty response. “Take as long as you like to think it over; I know how you’ll decide. You don’t belong in a thing like this anyhow; you never did. It’s bound to end in a nasty mess for all concerned. There’s a train goes to Paris to-morrow morning at eleven. You just take it, sir, and forget this business, and you’ll thank me all your life.” CHAPTER XV GEORGES THE CHAUFFEUR Upon descending to the courtyard, I took a seat on a bench beneath a vine-covered trellis. To stop here for a time, smoking, would seem a natural proceeding, and while I held such a post of recognizance nothing overt could transpire in the environs without my taking note of the fact. Enough had developed already, though, heaven was witness! I lit a cigarette and prepared for a resume.