“True. And he did so,” said the secret agent, nodding emphatically. “But already Legrand and this José had made what you Americans would call ‘a killing,’ yes?” Ruth nodded, smiling. “They got away with the money. But we are not allowing Madame Mantel, as she calls herself——”
“That isn’t her name then?”
“Name of a name!” ejaculated the man in disgust. “I should say not. She is Rosa Bonnet, who married an American crook four years ago and went to the United States. He was shot, I understand, in an attempt of his gang to rob a bank in one of your Western States.”
“Oh! And she came East and entered into our Red Cross work. How dreadful!”
“Rosa is a sharp woman. We believe she has done work for les Boches. But then,” he added, “we believe that of every crook we capture now.”
“And is she arrested?”
“But yes, Mademoiselle,” he said good-naturedly. “At least the police of Lyse were about to gather her in as I left this afternoon to come over here. But the men——”
“Oh, Monsieur!” cried Ruth, with clasped hands, “they have been in this neighborhood only to-day.”
He shot in a quick: “How do you know that, Mademoiselle Fielding?”
She told him of the French girl’s visit and of what Henriette had said of seeing Legrand, the Mexican and Bessie riding away in a motor-car from the chateau.