Freeman spoke exultantly of the rewards that were as good as in his hands. “Fifty thousand from the Government for the arrest of The White One and the others; another fifty at least from Berloff’s own pocket for what I have to tell him; fifty for Drexel, whom I’ll not let slip again. Zenia, never before has a spy made such a haul as this!”
“Never before was there such a clever spy.”
“We’re a pair, you and I! This business won’t last forever; but there are plenty of other things in which wits and beauty count. When we’re married, we’ll be a match for the world—my Zenia!”
“Let’s not speak of that now,” she said nervously. She gave an apprehensive look at the curtains.
He caught the look. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said, “nothing.”
He glanced about at the curtains, then turned back.
“Yes, we’ll be a match for the world,” he went on. “Ah, but you are a clever one, my dear! Only once have you ever failed. And I don’t understand yet how the other night out at Berloff’s you let Drexel get away from you. But with us both upon the case—”
She went suddenly white. “Let’s speak of other things,” she broke in.
He caught a second nervous glance at the portières. “Is there something wrong with those curtains?” he said, and he quickly rose and made for them, his hand instinctively reaching for his pistol.