"Yes, Miss Hilman, in the evening."
He bowed gravely and left the house.
Paul did not venture to go to dinner when evening came. He read on and on, waiting to hear Poubalov enter the adjoining room. It was late in the evening when at last he heard the door open and close, and he knew that the spy was at home.
Then Paul laid down his book and stepped cautiously upon the chair by the door. He carefully drew out the nail and applied his eye to the hole. He commanded a view of the very center of Poubalov's room.
The spy had thrown himself into a chair, and was sitting as if deeply wrapped in thought. There were wrinkles in his brow and his lips were set close together.
After a few moments thus, he took his traveling bag from the bureau and unlocked it. Having fumbled over the contents, he drew forth a cabinet photograph that he took directly under the chandelier where the light was strongest. His back was partially turned to Paul, and he held the card so that the observer at the nail hole could see it distinctly.
With a shock of surprise Paul recognized it as a picture of Clara Hilman.
Poubalov gazed long and earnestly at it and then touched it reverently to his lips.