with you. The railway last night for
twenty miles back was held up for State purposes. We none of us know
why, and it doesn't do to be too curious over here, but they have an
idea that you are either a journalist or a spy."

"_Civis Britannicus sum!_" the boy answered, with a laugh.

"It doesn't quite mean what it used to, sir," the man answered quietly.

CHAPTER II

AT THE CAFE MONTMARTRE

Exactly a week later, at five minutes after midnight, Guy Poynton, in
evening dress, entered the Cafe Montmartre, in Paris. He made his way
through the heterogeneous little crowd of men and women who were
drinking at the bar, past the scarlet-coated orchestra, into the inner
room, where the tables were laid for supper. Monsieur Albert, satisfied
with the appearance of his new client, led him at once to a small table,
submitted the wine card, and summoned a waiter. With some difficulty, as
his French was very little better than his German, he ordered supper,
and then lighting a cigarette, leaned back against the wall and looked
around to see if he could discover any English or Americans.

The room was only moderately full, for the hour was a little early for
this quarter of Paris. Nevertheless, he was quick to appreciate a
certain spirit of Bohemianism which pleased him. Every one talked to his
neighbor. An American from the further end of the room raised his glass
and drank his health. A pretty fair-haired girl leaned over from her
table and smiled at him.

"Monsieur like talk with me, eh?"

"English?" he asked.

"No. De Wien!"

He shook his head smilingly.

"We shouldn't get on," he declared. "Can't speak the language."

She raised her eyebrows with a protesting gesture, but he looked away
and opened an illustrated paper by his side. He turned over the pages
idly enough at first, but suddenly paused. He whistled softly to himself
and stared at the two photographs which filled the sheet.

"By Jove!" he said softly to himself.

There was the rustling of skirts close to his table. An unmistakably
English voice addressed him.

"Is it anything very interesting? Do show me!"

He looked up. Mademoiselle Flossie, pleased with his appearance, had
paused on her way down the room.

"Come and sit down, and I'll show it you!" he said, rising. "You're
English, aren't you?"

Mademoiselle Flossie waved a temporary adieu to her friends and accepted
the invitation. He poured her out a glass of wine.

"Stay and have su