"We can't talk now. Ask me for the next dance."
The woman sat back in her chair, attentive to the posturing of the dancer,
slowly fanning herself.
Lanyard's semblance of as much interest was nothing more; furtively his
watchfulness alternated between two quarters of the room.
On the farther edge of the circle of tropical radiance he had marked down a
table at which two men were seated, Dressier and O'Reilly. No more question
now as to the personnel of the conspiracy; even Velasco had thrown off
the mask. The enemy had come boldly into the open, indicating a sense of
impudent assurance, indicating even more, contempt of opposition. No
longer afraid, they no longer skulked in shadows. Lanyard experienced a
premonition of events impending.
In addition he was keeping an eye on the door to the elevator shaft. Once
already it had opened, letting a bright window into the farther wall of the
shadowed room, discovering the figure of the maître d'hôtel in silhouette,
anxiety in his attitude. He was waiting for somebody, waiting tensely. So
were the others waiting, all that crew and their fellow workers scattered
among the guests. Lanyard told himself he could guess for whom.
Only Ekstrom was wanting to complete the circle. When he appeared--if by
chance he should--things ought to begin to happen.
If tolerably satisfied that Ekstrom would not come--not that night, at all
events--Lanyard, none the less, continued to be jealously heedful of that
doorway.
But the hula came to an end without either his vigilance or the impatience
of the maître d'hôtel being rewarded. Writhing with serpentine grace to the
edge of the illuminated area, the dancer leaped back into darkness and the
folds of a wrap held by a maid, in which garment she was seen, bowing and
laughing, when the lights again blazed up.
Without ceasing to play, changing only the time of the tune, the orchestra
swung into a fox-trot. Lanyard glanced across the table to see Cecelia
Brooke rising in response to the invitation of dapper Mr. Revel.
In his turn, he rose with Sophie Weringrode. "Be patient with me,"
he begged. "It is long since I danced to music more frivolous than a
cannonade."
"But it is simple," the woman promised--"simple, at least, to one who can
dance as you could in the old days. Just follow me till you catch the step.
It doesn't matter, anyway; I desire only the opportunity to converse."
Yielding to his arms, she shifted into French when next she spoke.
"You do admirably, my friend. Never again depreciate your dancing. If you
knew how one suffers at the feet of these Americans--!"
"Excellent!" he said. "Now that is settled: what is it you are instructed
to propose to me?"
She laughed softly. "Always direct! Truly you would never shine as a secret
agent."
"Not as they shine," Lanyard countered--"in the dark."
"Don't be a fraud. We are what we are, and so are you. Let us not begin to
be censorious of one another's methods of winning a living."
"Agreed. But when do we begin to talk business?"
"Why do you continue so persistently antagonistic?"
"I am French."
"That is silly. You are an outlaw, a man without a country. Why not change
all that?"
"And how does one effect miracles?"
"Germany offers you a refuge, security, freedom to ply your trade
unhindered--within reasonable limits."
"And in exchange what do I give?"
"Your services, as and when required, in our service."
"Beginning when?"
"To-night."
"With what specific performance?"
"We want, we must without fail have, that document you took from the Brooke
girl."
"Perhaps we had better continue in English. You are speaking a tongue
unknown to me."
"Don't talk rot. You know well what I mean. We know you have the thing.
You didn't steal it to turn it over to England or the States. What is your
price to Germany?"
"Whatever you have in mind, believe me when I say I have nothing to sell to
the Wilhelmstrasse."
"But what else can you do with it? What other market--?"
"My dear Sophie, upon my word I haven't got what you want."
"Then why so keen to get the Brooke girl on the telephone as soon as you
found out where she was stopping?"
"How did you learn about that, by the way?"
"Let the credit go to Señor Velasco. He saw you first."
"One thought as much.... Nevertheless, I haven't what you want."
"You gave it back to Miss Brooke?"
"Having nothing to give her, I gave her nothing."
The woman was silent throughout a round of the floor; then, "Tell me
something," she requested.
"Can I keep anything from you?"
"Are you in love with the English girl?"
Lanyard almost lost step, then laughed the thought to derision. "What put
that into your pretty head, Sophie?"
"Do you not know it yourself, my friend?"
"It is absurd."
She laughed maliciously. "Think it over. Possibly you have not stopped to
think as yet. When you know the truth yourself, you will be the better
qualified to fib about it. Also, you will not forget...."
"What?" he demanded bluntly as she paused with intention.
"That as long as she possesses the document--since you have it not--her
life is endangered even more than yours."
"She hasn't got it!" Lanyard declared, as nearly in panic as he ever was.
"Ah!" the woman jeered. "So you confess to some knowledge of it after all!"
"My dear," he said, teasingly, "do you really want to know what has become
of that paper?"
"I do, and mean to."
"What if I tell you?"