Wait! I begin to see--to see
things--see something--interesting----"

He looked up at Thessalie:

"D'Eblis, Ferez Bey, Von-der-Goltz Pasha, Excellenz, Berlin--all these
were mixed up with this German-American banker, Adolf Gerhardt, were
they not?"

"It was Gerhardt's money, I am sure, that bought the _Mot d'Ordre_
from d'Eblis for Ferez--that is, for Berlin," she said.

"Do you mean," asked Westmore, "the New York banker, Adolf Gerhardt,
of Gerhardt, Klein & Schwartzmeyer, who has that big show place at
Northbrook?"

Barres smiled at him significantly:

"What do you know about that, Jim! If we go to Foreland we're certain
to be asked to the Gerhardt's! They're part of the Northbrook set;
they're received everywhere. They entertain the personnel of the
German and Austrian Embassies. Probably their place, Hohenlinden, is a
hotbed of German intrigue and propaganda! Thessa, how about you? Would
you care to risk recognition in Gerhardt's drawing-room, and see what
information you could pick up?"

Thessalie's cheeks grew bright pink, and her dark eyes were full of
dancing light:

"Garry, I'd adore it! I told you I had never been a spy. And that is
absolutely true. But if you think I am sufficiently intelligent to do
anything to help my country, I'll try. And I don't care how I do it,"
she added, with her sweet, reckless little laugh, and squeezed
Dulcie's hand tightly between her fingers.

"Do you suppose Gerhardt would remember you?" asked Westmore.

"I don't think so. I don't believe anybody would recollect me. If
anybody there ever saw Nihla Quellen, it wouldn't worry me, because
Nihla Quellen is merely a memory if anything, and only Ferez and
d'Eblis know I am alive and here----"

"And their hired agents," added Westmore.

"Yes. But such people would not be guests of Adolf Gerhardt at
Northbrook."

"Ferez Bey might be his guest."

"What of it!" she laughed. "I was never afraid of Ferez--never! He is
a jackal always. A threatening gesture and he flees! No, I do not
fear Ferez Bey, but I think he is horribly afraid of me.... I
think, perhaps, he has orders to do me very serious harm--and dares
not. No, Ferez Bey comes sniffing around after the fight is over. He
does no fighting, not Ferez! He slinks outside the smoke. When it
clears away and night comes he ventures forth to feed furtively on
what is left. That is Ferez--my Ferez on whom I would not use a
dog-whip--no!--merely a slight gesture--and he is