Either the man was a boastful, tipsy liar or he was Lieutenant Adolf von Arnheim, whose tight lips had been betrayed by the fumes of wine.... If he were von Arnheim, then he was a German, an officer--and a spy! Here were such suspicions as must be put to the test, such conclusions as did not admit of delay in their verification. The matter spread out before Potter with sinister ramifications. Fact fitted into fact. One of the facts was young Matthews's vanished aeroplane. Granting that Cantor was a spy and one of Germany's most skilful men of the air, then the aeroplane would be in his thoughts as a means to bring about his campaign of destruction. In the hands of such a man an aeroplane would be frightfully effective.... Potter's mind leaped past the basis for his deductions. If Cantor were von Arnheim, then Cantor had stolen Matthews's aeroplane, and Cantor intended to use it to Germany's advantage. Germany had sent him there for the purpose. But suspicion, individual certainty, were futile. Potter had to know. He must identify Cantor as von Arnheim past all dispute, and he must do so quickly, without arousing Cantor's suspicion.... Cantor unsuspicious was a menace; Cantor with suspicions aroused would be swift-striking lightning. He might not be ready to launch his catastrophe, but let him suspect that he was watched or under investigation and he would act swiftly, terribly. The last course had been served, the entertainment on the miniature stage was reaching a climax of unclothed vivacity, the room was as full of smoke as the heads of La Mothe's guests were with the lilting voices of the wine. Excitement had been aroused and demanded to be satisfied. To those young men excitement wore two faces, girls and gambling, and gambling drew the vote. "Who said poker?" Eldredge called. "Clear out these tables.... Bring cards and chips and card tables," La Mothe directed. "Two tables, six to a table," Fred said. Potter made his way to his host. "I'm off, Fred," he said. "I'm a laboring-man. It's close to midnight.... Somehow I don't fit in as well as I used to." "Oh, stick to the finish. I'll guarantee there'll be a finish." "I've lost my taste for them," Potter said. "I'm sober, and you fellows have a sheet to the wind. No.... I'm off." La Mothe shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry," he said. "Good night." Potter went out quietly, leaving behind a party that would not break up until daylight, a party who would play for the joy of play, with the blue sky as their limit.... The dinner with entertainment and favors had cost La Mothe in the neighborhood of three thousand dollars. As matters turned out, it was not such a bad venture in highflying, for when he cashed his chips at five o'clock in the morning he found he had paid for his celebration and had eight hundred dollars surplus to set down on the right side of the ledger. CHAPTER XXIV