There was a moment," he admitted, "when I had a suspicion. It has
passed. This woman is no Roman. She sells the secrets of Bernadine as
she would sell herself. Nevertheless, it is well always to be prepared.
There were probably others beside Bernadine who had the entree here."

"The only suspicious circumstance which I have noticed," Peter remarked,
"is the number of men-servants. I have seen five already."

"It is only fair to remember," Sogrange reminded him, "that the Baroness
herself told us that there were no other save men-servants here and that
they were all spies. Without a master, I cannot see that they are
dangerous. One needs, however, to watch all the time."

"If you see anything suspicious," Peter said, "tap the table with your
forefinger. Personally, I will admit that I have had my doubts of the
Baroness, but, on the whole, I have come to the conclusion that they
were groundless. She is not the sort of woman to take up a vendetta,
especially an unprofitable one."

"She is an exceedingly dangerous person for an impressionable man like
myself," Sogrange remarked, arranging his tie.

The butler fetched them in a very few moments and showed them into a
pleasantly furnished library, where he mixed cocktails for them from a
collection of bottles upon the sideboard. He was quite friendly, and
inclined to be loquacious, although he spoke with a slight foreign
accent. The house belonged to an English gentleman, from whom the
honoured Count had taken it, furnished. They were two miles from a
station and a mile from the village. It was a lonely part, but there
were always people coming or going. With one's work one scarcely noticed
it. He was gratified that the gentlemen found his cocktails so
excellent. Perhaps he might be permitted the high honour of mixing them
another? It was a day, this, of deep sadness and gloom. One needed to
drink something, indeed, to forget the terrible thing which had
happened. The Count had been a good master, a little impatient
sometimes, but kind-hearted. The news had been a shock to them all.

Then, before they had expected her, the Baroness reappeared. She wore a
wonderful grey gown which seemed to be made in a single piece, a gown
which fitted her tightly, and yet gave her the curious appearance of a
woman walking without the burden of clothes. Sogrange, Parisian to the
finger-tips, watched her with admiring approval. She laid her fingers
upon his arm, although it was towards Pe