"Well--perhaps not exactly that," I replied hesitatingly. "Only his queer questions, naturally make one think. We know we have enemies, clever, unscrupulous ones who have not hesitated to attempt to take my life. Therefore we must both be wary--extremely wary--for we never know where the next pitfall may be concealed." "I quite agree with all that, dear," answered Roseye, looking at me earnestly. "But I really can't think that Lionel is anything else than one of our best friends. At least he's been a really good chum to me, ever since we first met. No," she added decisively, "I'm convinced that no suspicion can attach to him. Such an idea, Claude, is to me, too utterly absurd." "Yes. Well, I suppose you're right, dearest," I replied with a sigh. "Women always see so very much farther than men in matters of this sort." And I rose and, crossing to her chair, kissed her fondly upon the lips. "I'm sorry--very sorry indeed, dearest, that I've cast any reflection upon your friend," I said in deep apology. "Do please forgive me, and we'll never mention the subject again." CHAPTER NINE. CONTAINS MORE CURIOUS FACTS. One afternoon a week later, when out at Hendon, I heard accidentally from a man I knew--one of the instructors at the Grahame-White Aviation School--that Eastwell was very queer, and in bed. The weather proved bad for flying, therefore I sent Theed off and returned to town. Teddy had gone down to the naval air-station at Yarmouth to see the test of a new seaplane, so I went along to look up Lionel at his rooms in Albemarle Street. His man, a thin-faced, dark-haired fellow named Edwards, who admitted me, said that his master had had a bad attack of something, the true import of which the doctor had failed to diagnose. I found him lying in bed in his narrow but artistic bachelor bedroom, looking very wan and pale. "Hulloa, Claude!" he cried with sudden joy, as I entered. "Awfully good of you to come in, old chap! I've been horribly queer these last three days, but I'll be fit again in a day or two, the doctor says. Well-- what's the news? How are the boys out at Hendon?" "All right. I was there this morning. Harrington had rather a bad smash yesterday afternoon, I hear. Came down outside Ruislip, and made an unholy mess." "Not hurt, I hope?" "Tore his face and hands a bit--that's all. But his biplane is in scraps, they say." He pointed to the box of cigarettes, and I took one. Then, when I had seated myself at his bedside, I saw that he had newspapers scattered everywhere, including the Paris _Matin_, the _Journal_, and the Rome _Tribuna_. That was the first time I had known that our friend was a linguist. "Well," he asked. "What about the Zeppelin raids? Any more news?"