"Then why do you fear this American crook? Why not dissociate yourself from him?"
"Because it would mean my betrayal and ruin. I have no means of disproving this dastardly allegation. I am in his power."
"You love him, perhaps?" I remarked, my gaze full upon her.
"Love him!" she protested, with flashing eyes. "I hate him!" And she went on to explain how she was held powerless in the hands of the scoundrel.
"You have a lover, I understand, mademoiselle?" I remarked presently.
She was silent, but about the corners of her pretty mouth there played a slight smile which told the truth.
"Why not cut yourself adrift from this life of yours?" I urged. "Let me be your friend and assist you against this fellow Banfield."
"How could you assist me? He knows what you are, and would denounce you instantly!"
What she said was certainly a very awkward truth. Banfield was one of the cleverest scoundrels in Europe, an unscrupulous man who, by reason of certain sharp deals, had become possessed of very considerable wealth, his criminal methods being always most carefully concealed. The police knew him to be a swindler, but there was never sufficient evidence to convict.
To obtain Suzette's services I would, I saw, be compelled to propitiate him.
Alone there, beneath the softly murmuring trees, I stretched forth my hand across the table and took her neatly gloved fingers in mine, saying:
"Suzette, what I am you already know. I am a cosmopolitan, perhaps unscrupulous, as a man occupied as I am must needs be. I am an Englishman and, I hope, a patriot. Yet I trust I have always been chivalrous towards 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. Indeed, he already has good cause to remember me in England, where he acted as a spy of Germany," I remarked. "He is always impressionable where the fair sex is concerned, and you will, I feel confident, quickly be successful if you lived for a few days at the 'Kaiserhof' as Vera Yermoloff."
She was silent, apparently reflecting deeply.
"I am prepared, of course, to offer you a monetary consideration," I added in a low voice.
"No monetary consideration is needed, m'sieur," was her quick response.
"In return for the fraud I practised upon you, it is only just that I should render you this service. Yet without Banfield's knowledge it would be utterly impossible."
"Why?"
"Because I dare not leave Paris without his permission."
"Then you must go with his knowledge--make up some story--a relative ill or something--to account for your journey to Berlin."
She seemed undecided. Therefore I repeated my suggestion, well knowing that the sweet-faced girl could, if she wished, obtain for us the knowledge which would place power in the hands of Great Britain--power to upset the machinations of our enemies.
Mine was becoming a profession full of subterfuge.
Her breast heaved and fell in a long-drawn sigh. I saw that she was wavering.
She sipped her tea in silence, her eyes fixed upon the shady trees opposite.
"Suzette," I exclaimed at last, "your lover's name is Armand Thomas, clerk at the head office of the Compte d'Escompte. He believes you to be the niece of the rich American, Henry Banfield, little dreaming of your real position."
"How do you know that?"
I smiled, telling her that I had made it my business to discover the facts.
"You love him?" I asked, looking her straight in the face.
"Yes," was her serious response.
"And you have kept this love affair secret from Banfield?"
"Of course. If he knew the truth he would be enraged. He has always forbidden me to fall in love."
"Because he fears that your lover may act as your protector and shield you from his evil influence," I remarked. "Well, Suzette," I added, "you are a very clever girl. If you are successful on this mission I will, I promise, find a means of uniting you with your lover."
She shook her head sadly, replying:
"Remember Banfield's threat. Disobedience of any of his commands will mean my ruin. Besides, he knows who and what you are. Therefore how can you assist me?"
"Mademoiselle," I said, again extending my hand to my dainty little friend, "I make you this promise not only on my own behalf--but also on behalf of my country, England. Is it a compact?"