"Could it not be that he forgot the second time you saw him?" queried M. Lafrane.
"I doubt it. There is something quite distinct in the air of the two men. But I understand that whichever comes to the hospital with the basket of sweets always has a word with the German officer in Hut H, Cot Twenty-four. You can easily find out about him."
"True," murmured the secret agent eagerly.
Then she told him of her walk in the gloaming and what she had seen in the garden of the peasant's cot—the two men dressed exactly alike. One must be the half-foolish Nicko; the other must be the spy.
M. Lafrane nodded eagerly again, pursing his lips.
"Mademoiselle," he said quietly, "I will ask the good madame if you may be relieved for the day. I have a car outside—a swift car. Can you show me that cottage—Nicko's dwelling? I will bring you back immediately."
"Of a surety," she told him in his own tongue, as he had spoken. "Wait. I will get my hat and coat. I may not know the nearest way to the place. But——"
"I am familiar with this territory," he said dryly. "We can strike it, I have no doubt, Mademoiselle. But I need you to verify the place and—perhaps—to identify the man."
"Not the spy?" she gasped.
"Nicko, the peddler."