"Probably," he suggested, with a little glance around, "about themselves. We will follow their example. Will you marry me, please, Miss Van Teyl?" "We haven't even come to the ice yet," she sighed, "and you pass from high politics to flagrant personalities. Are you a sensationalist, Mr. Lutchester?" "Not in the least," he protested. "I simply asked you an extremely important question quite calmly." "It isn't a question that should be asked calmly," she objected. "I have immense self-control," he told her, "but if you'd like me to abandon it--" "For heaven's sake, no!" she interrupted. "Tell me more about Mr. Fischer." "You won't forget to answer my little question later on, will you?" he begged. "To proceed, then. I spent some little time this afternoon with your chief of the police here, and I fancy that the person you speak of is becoming a little too blatant even for a broad-minded country like this. He belongs to an informal company of wealthy sympathisers with Germany, who propose to start a campaign of destruction at all the factories manufacturing munitions for the Allies. They have put aside--I believe it is several million dollars, for purposes of bribery. They don't seem to realise, as my friend pointed out to me this afternoon, that the days for this sort of thing in New York have passed. Some of them will be in prison before they know where they are." "Exactly why did you come to America?" she asked, a little abruptly. "To meet Nikasti and to look after Fischer." "Well, you seem to have done that pretty effectually!" "Also," he went on calmly, "to keep an eye upon you." "Professionally?" "You ask me to give away too many secrets," he whispered, leaning towards her. She made a little grimace. "Tell me some more about your little adventure in Fifth Avenue?" she begged. He smiled grimly. "You wouldn't believe me," he reminded her, "but it really was one of Fischer's little jokes. It very nearly came off, too. As a matter of fact," he went on, "Fischer isn't really clever. He is too obstinate, too convinced in his own mind that things must go the way he wants them to, that Fate is the servant of his will. It's a sort of national trait, you know, very much like the way we English bury our heads in the sand when we hear unpleasant truths. The last thing Fischer wants is advertisement, and yet he goes to some of his Fourteenth Street friends and unearths a popular desperado to get rid of me. The fellow happens most unexpectedly to fail, and now Fischer has to face a good many awkward questions and a good deal of notoriety. No, I don't think Fischer is really clever." Pamela sighed. "In that case, I suppose I shall have to say 'No' to him," she decided. "After waiting all this time, I couldn't bear to be married to a fool." "You won't be," he assured her cheerfully. "More British arrogance," she murmured. "Now see what's going to happen to us!"