"It would have been perfectly natural," continued Poubalov, "for Strobel to suspect me at first blush of evil intentions, and I presume he did so; for, without inquiring what brought me to America and to him, he took pains to remind me that he was within the jurisdiction of the United States, and that it was not his purpose to set foot outside the limits of your country, of which I presume he is by this time a citizen."
"He has taken out his first papers," replied Clara.
"And, therefore, should have felt himself secure from one who, supposing he were hostile, yet acted as the official of a foreign and a friendly government. I give you credit, Miss Hilman, of drawing a correct conclusion from that statement of relations."
Poubalov paused, and Clara responded slowly:
"It ought to mean that he had other enemies than you or those whom you represent."
"Exactly; but why do you hedge—pardon the term—why do you set forth the conclusion with reservation? 'It ought to mean,' is what you said. Why not say it does mean?"
"Because I do not know whether you are telling me the truth."
Poubalov leaned back in his chair, and his dark face was momentarily illumined by an amused smile.
"May I light a cigarette?" he asked in a tone that seemed to say how patient he was under this continuance of suspicion that not even reason could dissipate. It was as if he had said, "With all your unexpected cleverness as a logician, Miss Hilman, you are yet a woman, and you cling desperately to woman's reasonless intuitions."
"Oh, pardon me if I am cruelly unjust," cried Clara, as clearly the woman in her quick relenting as she was in following her intuitions; "have patience with me! You must know how distressed I am, and how hard it is to think clearly. Your very admission that you are a paid spy suggests deceit and trickery—I suppose I am making the matter worse."