“I SUPPOSE,” Grant remarked, after their first turn of the room, “that I must be psychic.”

“Why?” the girl asked.

“Because, although you have never addressed a word to me, not even since we commenced to dance, I believe that you have something to say.”

“It is not you who are psychic,” she replied. “It was I who conveyed that impression to you. We will stop now. Come this way, please.”

She led the way to two chairs set in a retired corner of the Bar, which was just then almost deserted.

“That was a very short dance,” he complained.

“You dance very well,” she answered, “but to talk is sometimes more important.”

He looked at her with quickening curiosity. In her strange, quiet way she was, without a doubt, attractive, but in an absolutely unanalysable manner. Not only was she without ornaments, but her dress itself was made in the plainest possible fashion. There was no colour upon her cheeks or carmine upon her lips. She seemed even to have disdained the powder puff.

“What will you have?” he asked, as a waiter drew near. “Some champagne?”

“Thank you,” she replied. “I never drink wine. I will have some tea and some cigarettes.”

“Aren’t you a little unusual for a place like this?” he asked.

“Very,” she admitted. “At first they did not wish to take me. Now they know better. I can bring them custom when I choose.”

“You speak very good English,” he said, “but you are not English, are you?”

“My mother,” she told him, “was Japanese. My father was a Levantine. I was born in Alexandria. There are only two things I can do in the world—dance and speak many languages. But no, there is a third. I can hate.”

“Well, I hope you won’t hate me?” he remarked, smiling.

She studied him for a moment and it seemed to him that it was the first time that their eyes had met.

“No,” she assured him. “I shall never hate you, nor shall I ever love you. Perhaps that is as well or the young lady at your table would be jealous.”

“There is no one at my table who is particularly interested in me,” he declared.

“That is not true,” she replied. “Lady Susan Yeovil is very much interested in you.”

He was half amused, half inclined to be irritated at what seemed like presumption.

“The young lady and I are very good friends,” he observed.

“That may be your feeling but it is not hers,” she said composedly. “You look as though you thought that it was not my affair. It is not. I will speak to you of another matter.”

“As soon as you please. I must be getting back to my friends before long.”

She stirred her tea lazily.

“I shall not keep you from them,” she promised. “Do you know the man who came in with Yvonne Cortot from the Café de Paris?”

“I have never seen him before,” Grant replied.

“His name is Itash,” she confided, “Count Itash. Some of the girls call him Sammy—I do not know why. You are an American, are you not?”

“I am,” he admitted.

“You are a patriot?”

“I think I may call myself one,” he assented, a little bewildered,

“Then you should beware of Count Itash,” the girl said slowly, “Count Itash, whom Yvonne christened Sammy. Count Itash does not love your country. He would hurt you if he could.”

Grant felt that she was watching him out of the corners of her eyes. He laughed with pretended scorn.

“My dear young lady,” he protested, “all that sort of thing died a natural death many years ago. I don’t suppose there is any great friendliness between our nations but we get on all right nowadays.”

“Do you? I am not so sure. Count Itash does not think so either. I have heard him speak of disputes in Washington.”

“Count Itash seems to be a very indiscreet young man,” Grant observed. “There may have been a little trouble lately but all these things are settled now in a friendly way.”

“There is something coming soon,” she warned him, “which will not be settled in a friendly way. There is a demand soon to be made in Washington which may end in a threat.”

“A threat of what? The days of wars are over.”

She turned her head slightly.

“Only for those,” she reminded him, “who belong to the Pact of Nations.”

“What on earth do you know about the Pact of Nations?” he asked curiously.

“I know everything there is to be known. I have a capable instructor.”

“I am more than ever convinced,” he said drily, “that Count Itash is a very indiscreet young man.”

She knocked the ash from her cigarette onto a plate.

“Count Itash has never addressed a word to me on the subject in his life,” she assured him.

“Who is your informant, then?”

“Count Itash.”

“You indulge in conundrums,” he remarked.

“Why waste time on the unimportant?” she queried scornfully. “I can tell you great truths. What does it matter how I came by them? You would scarcely believe me if you knew, and it really does not matter. The truth is all that matters.”

“Who is it that you imagine to be plotting against my country?” he asked.

“Japan and Germany. Possibly China also. You know what Germany lives for? Revenge. As the years go by, her schemes mature. She is nearer the end now than at any time. Shall I tell you of two things which will happen before many years have passed?”

“I fancy that you’re a prophet of woe. Let’s hear, anyway.”

“Prince Frederick will have been proclaimed Emperor of Germany, and Germany and Russia will have declared war against the world.”

“Has your informant also vouchsafed the information as to where the money is to come from?”

“From the conquest of America,”

“God bless my soul!” Grant gasped.

The orchestra was playing a waltz now. The music seemed to reach them in little ripples of melody. The sound of voices grew louder, and even the popping of corks more insistent. A young man came round towards the Bar and paused to glance meditatively at the two occupants of the almost empty room. Afterwards he ignored them and seated himself on one of the stools in front of the Bar.

“Itash is uneasy,” she whispered. “He does not wish very much that I talk to you. He has no idea that I know what I know, but you see how restless he is. Something tells him that there is danger about. Sammy!”

The young man swung round on his stool and came towards them at once.

“Let me introduce to you my new friend, Mr. Grant Slattery,” she said coolly. “Count Itash.”

“I am very glad to meet you, sir,” Itash declared, speaking English with a somewhat guttural accent for one of his race.

“And how is it that you have left Yvonne?” the girl enquired. “You had better hurry back, or she may make you jealous, There are many here who like to dance with her.”

“Yvonne! That is nothing!” he answered. “An affair of the moment. Will you dance with me, Cleo? That is if you, sir, will permit,” he added, turning to Grant.

“By all means,” the latter assented, “but Mademoiselle will return?”

“I shall most certainly return,” the girl promised. “There is a great deal more that I have to say to you, Mr. Slattery. I like very much to talk to you. You understand so well the things that interest me.”

“The prodigal returned!” Rose Lancaster exclaimed, as Grant rejoined the little party. “I think that we ought to send him to Coventry just as we did Bobby.”

“Nonsense!” Susan expostulated. “Every one dances with these professionals. The only point is whether Grant was quite justified in taking her to such a very secluded corner. Votes on the subject, please!”

“She is a most attractive-looking young woman,” Lymane declared. “Something about her quite different. I thought at first she was a little shopgirl out for a holiday.”

“I didn’t,” Susan remarked drily. “I’ve seen her dance. Her name is Mademoiselle Cleo, and she used to be at the Palais Royal. What did you talk to her about, Grant?”

“To tell you the truth,” he replied, “we were in the midst of a most interesting conversation when her young Japanese admirer came and dragged her away. We’re going to finish it later.”

“You’re engaged to dance this with me, anyhow,” Susan reminded him, rising to her feet.

They moved off, danced, and waited for the encore.

“I wish you hadn’t been so attentive to that young woman,” Susan said abruptly.

“Why?”

She waited for a moment until they were out of the crowd.

“There’s some trouble between them already,” she whispered. “Was he jealous of you, do you suppose?”

Grant looked across the room. Itash and the girl were seated at a table together, Itash leaning towards his companion, his face dark and even threatening. The girl smiled back at him with a look of obvious disdain. Close at hand, Yvonne, the little danseuse from the Café de Paris, whom Itash had brought with him, watched them both with growing anger.

“I’m afraid there’s going to be trouble there,” Susan observed. “This is just the sort of thing which makes one realise, after all, that these places are rather sordid.”

“I don’t think you need feel like that,” Grant assured her. “As a matter of fact, a very interesting situation has developed. Itash, unlike most of his race, seems to have been a little communicative to the girl. Now he has made her wildly jealous and she threatens to talk. I believe that he is terrified.”

“Talk? What about?”

“Lady Susan,” he said, dropping his voice a little and drawing his chair nearer to hers, “you have been your father’s confidante to some small extent, and I dare say you can understand that, while these Congressional Meetings are going on at Nice, we are in the centre of a very hotbed of intrigue. The threads sometimes show themselves in the most unlikely places. I rather fancy that there is one of them to be caught hold of here.”

“How exciting!” she murmured. “I felt sure, from something Dad said, that there was trouble brewing. Who’s misbehaving, Grant?”

“The two from whom trouble was always to be apprehended,” he answered. “It’s all tremendously interesting, only what I can’t understand is how a close-mouthed fellow like Itash could ever have let a word escape him. As a matter of fact, the girl herself said that he hadn’t. And yet she knows. She has given me plenty to think about already.”

They danced again once or twice. Afterwards Susan was claimed by Lymane, and Grant strolled across towards the Bar. As soon as she saw him alone. Mademoiselle Cleo rose to her feet with the obvious intention of joining him. Itash laid his hand upon her wrist, leaned forward and spoke to her fiercely. She only laughed. Grant, however, who had caught the young man’s expression, was suddenly anxious. He had a feeling that the field of action had broadened, that they were no longer in the little night restaurant, but on the arena of a prospective and far-reaching battleground. Itash, his face dark with anger, had risen to his feet. Yvonne came up and touched him on the arm. He only pushed her away. She went off, laughing, with some one else. Cleo, ignoring Itash’s attempts to detain her, came smiling towards Grant.

“I am afraid,” he said politely, “that you are in trouble.”

“Yes,” she assented. “I am in trouble with my friend, Count Itash. If he knew what I had told you—what I am going to tell you—he would certainly kill me. The most amusing part of it is that, as he sits there, biting his nails and cudgelling his brains, he cannot imagine how it is that I know.”

“How do you know?” Grant asked curiously. “Have you spied upon him, listened to private conversations, stolen his papers?”

“Not one of these,” she answered. “Yet I know. I know of the great plot, started six years ago and now rapidly drawing near to fruition.”

“Are you going to tell me about it?”

“As I learn the details, yes,” she promised. “Day by day and week by week, you shall know everything. In the meantime, alas! I must make friends with him again. Unless we are friends there are some things which I shall never know. But when I do know them, you shall be told. It is my will to wreck his schemes.”

“Who is working with him?” Grant enquired.

She looked across the room to where the young man’s vengeful eyes seemed to be glaring at them from behind his spectacles.

“Your intelligence should tell you that,” she replied. “Germany, of course. Well, I like Germany well enough. They are a great people. I am not so fond of England. But Itash is to be destroyed.”

“Is it my fancy,” Grant asked, as she rose to her feet, “or are you just a little unforgiving?”

She looked back at him over her shoulder.

“I despise all people,” she said, “who forgive. I never change, I never forgive, I never forget, I never break a promise. I go back to Itash now because there are things I do not know, but he will have little joy of me. I promise you that.”

She swung across the room, laughed down at the young man who awaited her, and sat by his side. He began talking in a low, fierce tone. She leaned back, fanning herself. Grant returned to his own table.

“A very amusing place, this,” he observed. “What about another bottle of wine?”

“Certainly not,” Susan declared. “Arthur has paid the bill, and we’ve made up our minds to go. Bobby has danced five times with that girl with the ginger hair. You have absented yourself twice with the nondescript young woman. And I have come to the conclusion that this is no place for a nice girl to spend a happy evening.”

“Believe me,” Grant began

“Not a word,” she interrupted. “We’re all going home. Three o’clock, and tennis to-morrow before lunch. Of course,” she concluded, “you needn’t come, unless you want to. As a matter of fact, though, I should think you’ve made quite enough mischief for one night. The Japanese youth looked as though he were trying to think out some complicated form of murder for you, when you disappeared with the young woman.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised if his thoughts were turning that way,” Grant admitted. “He’s a sulky brute. Hullo! Here’s Andrews! I wonder what’s up.”

The young man who had just entered approached Lymane and whispered in his ear. They talked for a few moments in agitated monosyllables. Then Lymane turned towards the others.

“Andrews has just brought some extraordinary news,” he announced. “Baron Naga motored over from Nice to the Villa to-night, was taken ill and died there an hour or so ago.”

Grant looked across the room, hash was still talking volubly. Cleo was still listening with the same inscrutable look.