Dale was hurt. He went back quietly to the car. Of course he had not asked her to marry him, but then he had mentioned it—and couldn't she be loyal to his memory? Dale was filled with unexpected jealousy.
After a restless night he had just about rationalized the entire situation. He knew the scene in the garden did not necessarily mean anything. He would phone Ann, mention last night, and of course she would explain. Then he picked up the morning telepaper from London and read in the gossip column that Ann Wondra, the Polish beauty, might soon announce her engagement to Georges Raoul Dumont, son of the French ambassador. Dale was stricken—
And was still in that state of mind, the Bryd saw, when a man came to his hotel room that afternoon. "You are in charge of sun-station No. 18, over Paris, I believe."
This was very interesting to the Bryd, because it saw that the man was cleverly masked with a plastiform shell that did not at all appear to be a mask.
"Yes," Dale said glumly.
The man's eyes looked speculative. He glanced at the telepaper on Dale's bed, and the Bryd, figuratively speaking—for of course the Bryd was nothing but pure energy—opened its eyes. For the Bryd knew the man's thought, and was astonished to learn that Dale had been closely watched for some time. Following the scene in the flower garden, the item in the telepaper had been especially arranged to produce a certain reaction in Dale Stevenson without Ann Wondra's knowledge.
"You know, of course," the man said, "that France is about to disturb world peace by invading Spain."
Dale sat up and frowned. "No, I didn't know it."
"It is true," the man said, watching him intently.