She looked at me inquiringly, and yet as though she comprehended quite well. "You mean----?" "Well, to be quite frank, I mean Tiel. He is very clever, and he knows his work. Mein Gott, we can teach him nothing! And perhaps he trusts you implicitly and is quite candid. But he certainly tells me no more than he can help." "He tells nobody more than he can help," she said. "You are no worse treated than any one else he works with. But it is a little annoying sometimes." "For instance, do you know what he is doing to-night?" I asked. There was no mistaking the criticism in the little shrug with which she replied-- "I half suspect he is walking about in the dark by himself just to make me think he is busy on some mysterious affair!" "Do you actually mean that?" I exclaimed. "No, no," she said hastily, "not really quite that! But he sometimes tempts one to say these things." "Have you worked with him often before?" "Enough to know his little peculiarities." She smiled suddenly. "Oh, he is a very wonderful man, is my dear brother!" Again I was delighted (I confess it shamelessly!) to hear that unmistakable note of criticism. "'Wonderful' may have several meanings," I suggested. "It has in his case," she said frankly. "He really is extraordinarily clever." She added nothing more, but the implication was very clear that the other meanings were not quite so flattering. I felt already that this strange little household was divided into two camps, and that Eileen and I were together in one. "But we have talked enough about Herr Tiel!" she exclaimed in a different voice. "Because we really can get no further. It is like discussing what is inside a locked box! We can trust his judgment in this business; I think you will agree to that." "Oh yes," I said, "I have seen enough to respect his abilities very thoroughly." "Then," said she, "let us talk of something more amusing." "Yourself," I said frankly, though perhaps a little too boldly, for she did not respond immediately. I felt that I had better proceed more diplomatically. "I was wondering whether you were a pure German," I added. "My feelings towards Germany are as strong as yours, Mr Belke," she answered. "Indeed I don't think any one can be more loyal to their country than I am, but I am not purely German by blood. My mother was Irish, hence my name--Eileen." "Then that is your real name?" I cried, between surprise and delight. "Yes, that is the one genuine thing about me," she smiled. "But if you are half English----" "Irish," she corrected. "Ah!" I cried. "I see--of course! I was going to ask whether your sympathies were not at all divided. But Irish is very different. Then you hate the English with a double hatred?" "With one or two exceptions--friends I have made--I abhor the whole race I am fighting against quite as much as you could possibly wish me to! Indeed, I wish it were fighting and not merely plotting!"