with a
gun. Sure; he's stickin' his nose into everything.... Look out for
him, if he comes around Grogan's askin' for Soane.... And say; there
was a French guy here callin' on Barres. I knew he was in, but I said
he was out. I was just goin' to call you when Barres came down....
Yes, I got his name.... Wait, I copied it out.... Here it is, 'Georges
Renoux, Architect.' And he wrote 'Hotel Astor' in the corner.

"Yes, he said tell Barres to call him up. Naw, I didn't give him the
message.... You don't say! Is that right? He's one o' them nosey
Frenchman? _A captain_?... Gee!... What's his lay?... In New York?
Well, you better watch out then.... Sure, I'll ring you if he comes
back!... No, there ain't no news.... Yes, I was to the Astor grille
last night, and I talked to _K17_.... There was a guy higher up there.
I don't know who. He looked like he was a dark complected Jew....
_Ferez Bey_?... Gee!... You expect Skeel? To-night? Doin' _what_? You
think this man Renoux is watchin' the Clan-na-Gael? Well, you better
tell Soane to shut his mouth then.

"Yes, that Dunois girl is here still. It's a pity _K17_ lost his
nerve.... Well, you better look out for her and for Barres, too.
They're as thick as last year honey!

"All right, I'll let you know anything. Bye-bye."

* * * * *

Barres, walking leisurely up the street, kept watching for Soane
somewhere along the block; but could see nobody in the darkness,
resembling him.

Outdoors the July night was cooler; young girls, hatless, in summer
frocks, gathered on stoops or strolled through the lamplit dark.
Somewhere a piano sounded, not unpleasantly.

In the branch post office he mailed his letters, turned to go out, and
caught sight of Soane passing along the sidewalk just outside.

And with him was the one-eyed man, Max Freund--the man who, perhaps,
had robbed Dulcie of half the letter.

His first emotion was sheer anger, and it started him toward the door,
bent on swift but unconsidered vengeance.

But before this impulse culminated in his collaring the one-eyed man,
sufficient common sense came to the rescue. A row meant publicity, and
an inquiry by authority would certainly involve the writer of the
partly stolen letter--Thessalie Dunois.

Cool and collected now, but mad all through, Barres continued to
follow Soane and Freund, dropping back several yards to keep out of
sight, and trying to make up his mind what he ought to do.