you, not tonight." And in the same, level, pleasant voice:
"Don't look immediately, but from where you sit you can see in the
mirror opposite two women seated in the next room."

After a moment he nodded.

"Are they watching us?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Neeland?"

He reddened with surprise.

"Get Captain Sengoun and leave," she said, still smiling. "Do it
carelessly, convincingly. Neither of you needs courage; both of you
lack common sense. Get up, take leave of me nicely but regretfully, as
though I had denied you a rendezvous. You will be killed if you remain
here."

For a moment Neeland hesitated, but curiosity won:

"Who is likely to try anything of that sort?" he asked. And a tingling
sensation, not wholly unpleasant, passed over him.

"Almost anyone here, if you are recognised," she said, as gaily as
though she were imparting delightful information.

"But _you_ recognise us. And I'm certainly not dead yet."

"Which ought to tell you more about me than I am likely to tell
anybody. Now, when I smile at you and shake my head, make your adieux
to me, find Captain Sengoun, and take your departure. Do you
understand?"

"Are you really serious?"

"It is you who should be serious. Now, I give you your signal,
Monsieur Neeland----"

But the smile stiffened on her pretty face, and at the same moment he
was aware that somebody had entered the room and was standing directly
behind him.

He turned on his chair and looked up into the face of Ilse Dumont.

There was a second's hesitation, then he was on his feet, greeting her
cordially, apparently entirely at ease and with nothing on his mind
except the agreeable surprise of the encounter.

"I had your note," he said. "It was charming of you to write, but very
neglectful of you not to include your address. Tell me, how have you
been since I last saw you?"

Ilse Dumont's red lips seemed to be dry, for she moistened them
without speaking. In her eyes he saw peril--knowledge of something
terrible--some instant menace.

Then her eyes, charged with lightning, slowly turned from him to the
girl on the sofa who had not moved. But in her eyes, too, a little
flame began to flicker and play, and the fixed smile relaxed into an
expression of cool self-possession.

Neeland's pleasant, careless voice broke the occult tension:

"This is a pretty club," he said; "everything here is in such
excellent taste. You might have told me about it," he added to Ilse
with smiling rep