had learnt all that Paris and London could teach her.

"You are very beautiful, Nita," he said.

"Many men tell me so," she answered.

"Life has gone well with you since we met last?" he asked reflectively.

"The months have passed," she replied.

"You have been faithful?"

"Fidelity is of the soul."

He paused, as though pondering over her answer. A famous French comedian
was holding the stage, and the house rocked with laughter.

"You have the same apartment?"

She pressed the clasp of a black velvet bag which rested on the edge of
the box, opened it, and passed him a key.

"It is the same."

He held the key in his fingers for a moment, but he had the air of a man
to whom the action had no significance.

"You have enough money?" he asked.

"I have saved a million francs," she told him. "I am waiting for my
lord to speak of things that matter. The woman in the box over
there--who is she?"

"An English spy," he answered calmly.

She lowered her eyes for a moment, as though to conceal the sudden soft
flash.

"An English spy," she repeated. "My rival in espionage."

"You have no rival, Nita," he replied, "and she is in the opposite
camp."

Her two red lips were distorted into a pout.

"Is it over, my task?" she asked. "I am weary of Paris. I love it over
here better. I am weary of French officers, of these solemn officials
who come to my room like guilty schoolboys, and who speak of themselves
and their importance with bated breath, as though their whisper would
rock the world. My master has enough information?"

"More than enough," he assured her. "You have done your work
wonderfully."

"Shall I now deal with her?" she continued, with a slight, eager
movement of her head towards the opposite box.

He smiled.

"She is harmless, she and her entourage," he replied. "Some stroke of
good fortune brought them word of the meeting between myself and
Immelan, and beyond that they guessed at its significance. They were at
the shed to watch my arrival. Now, with their mouths open, they sit and
wait for the information which they hope will drop in. They are very
ingenuous, these Anglo-Saxons, but they are not diplomats."

She turned her head and looked across the auditorium. Maggie was talking
to a man whom Nigel had just brought in, and who was bending over her in
obvious admiration. Nita, with her wealth of cosmetics, her over-red
lips, stared curiously at this possible rival, with her clear skin, h