“An’ I tell ye lave it to the Clan-na-Gael!” retorted Soane, excitedly. “Musha——”
“For why you yell?” yawned Freund, displaying a very yellow fang. “Dot big secret service slob, he iss in the bar hinunter. Perhaps he hear you if like a pig you push forth cries.”
Lehr raised his eyebrows; then, carelessly:
“He’s only a State agent. Johnny Klein is keeping an eye on him. What does that big piece of cheese expect to get by hanging out in my bar?”
Freund yawned again, appallingly; Soane said:
“I wonder is that purty Frinch girrl agin us Irish?”
“What does she care about the Irish?” replied Lehr. “Her danger to us lies in the fact that she may blab about Ferez to some Frenchman, and that he may believe her in spite of all the proof they have in Paris against her. Max,” he added, turning to Freund, “it’s funny that Ferez doesn’t do something to her.”
“I haff no orders.”
“Maybe you’ll get ’em when Ferez reads that letter. 167 He’s certainly not going to let that girl go about blabbing and writing letters——”
Soane struck the table with doubled fist: