They were in a town now, and by the lamps he saw just how pretty she was.
“Thanks awfully for warning me,” he said rather humbly. “A fellow gets to think that all this spy talk is—just talk.”
“Well, it isn’t,” said the girl briefly but with the air of one who knew.
The sergeant eyed her askance.
“That sounds as though you knew something.”
“Perhaps I do. Though of course one doesn’t really know these things. One suspects.”
“Naturally one does.”
She glanced at him, but his face was grave.
“What I would like to know,” he proceeded, “is what one does when one suspects.”
“I am afraid you are trying to be funny,” she observed coldly, and brought the car to a standstill. “Here’s your car line.”