owards a woman. You are, I see, oppressed--held in a bondage
that is hateful----"

At my words she burst into tears, holding my hand convulsively in hers.

"No," I said in a voice of sympathy. "The professions of neither of us
are--well, exactly honourable, are they? Nevertheless, let us be
friends. I want your assistance, and in return I will assist you. Let us
be frank and open with each other. I will explain the truth and rely
upon your secrecy. Listen. In Berlin certain negotiations are at this
moment in active progress with St. Petersburg and New York, with the
object of forming an offensive alliance against England. This would mean
that in the coming war, which is inevitable, my country must meet not
only her fiercest enemy, Germany, but also the United States and Russia.
I have reason to believe that matters have secretly progressed until
they are very near a settlement. What I desire to know is the actual
inducement held out by the Kaiser's Foreign Office. Do you follow?"

"Perfectly," she said, at once attentive. "I quite recognise the danger
to your country."

"The danger is to France also," I pointed out. "For the past six months
an active exchange of despatches has been in progress, but so carefully
has the truth been concealed that only by sheer accident--a word let
drop in a drawing-room in London--I scented what was in the wind. Then I
at once saw that you, Suzette, was the only person who could assist us."

"How?"

"You are an expert in the art of prying into despatch-boxes," I laughed.

"Well?"

"In Berlin, at the Kaiserhof Hotel, there is staying a certain Charles
Pierron. If any one is aware of the truth that man is. I want you to go
to Berlin, make his acquaintance, and learn what he knows. If what I
suspect be true, he possesses copies of the despatches emanating from
the German Foreign Office. And of these I must obtain a glimpse at all
hazards."

"Who is this Pierron?"

"He was at the 'Angleterre,' in Copenhagen, when you were there, but I
do not think you saw him. The reason of my presence there was because I
chanced to be interested in his movements."

"What is he--an undesirable?"

"As undesirable as I am myself, mademoiselle," I laughed. "He is a
French secret agent--an Anglophobe to his finger-tips."

She laughed.

"I see, m'sieur," she exclaimed; "you desire me to adopt the profession
of the spy with the kid glove, eh?"

I nodded in the affirmative.

"Pierron knows me. I