“The thing to do,” he said, “is to catch this ‘Watcher’ fellow and beat him up. That’s the way to deal with blackmailers—catch ’em and beat ’em up—vermin of this sort—this blackmailing fraternity!—I haven’t anything to do; I’ll take the job!”
“We’d better talk it over first,” suggested Barres. “There seem to be several ways of going about it. One way, of course, is to turn detective and follow Thessa around town. And, as you say, spot any man who dogs her and beat him up very thoroughly. That’s your way, Jim. But Thessa, unfortunately, doesn’t desire to be featured, and you can’t go about beating up people in the streets of New York without inviting publicity.”
Westmore came back and stood near Thessalie, who looked up at him from her seat on the Chinese couch with visible interest:
“Mr. Westmore?”
“Yes?”
“Garry is quite right about the way I feel. I don’t want notoriety. I can’t afford it. It would mean stirring up every French Government agent here in New York. And if America should ever declare war on Germany and become an ally of France, then your own Secret Service here would instantly arrest me and probably send me to France to stand trial.”
She bent her pretty head, adding in a quiet voice:
“Extradition would bring a very swift end to my career. With the lying evidence against me and a Senator of France to corroborate it by perjury—ask yourselves, gentlemen, how long it would take a military court to send me to the parade in the nearest caserne!”
“Do you mean they’d shoot you?” demanded Westmore, aghast.