“Garry,” said Westmore impatiently, “if we’re going to discuss various ways of putting an end to this business, what way do you suggest?”
Barres lighted another cigarette:
“I’ve been thinking. And I haven’t a notion how to go about it, unless we turn over the matter to the police. But Thessa doesn’t wish publicity,” he added, “so whatever is to be done we must do by ourselves.”
Thessalie leaned forward from her seat on the lounge by Dulcie:
“I don’t ask that of you,” she remonstrated earnestly. “I only wanted to stay here for a little while——”
“You shall do that too,” said Westmore, “but this matter seems to involve something more than annoyance and danger to you. Those miserable rascals are Germans and they are carrying on their impudent intrigues, regardless of American laws and probably to the country’s detriment. How do we know what they 220 are about? What else may they be up to? It seems to me that somebody had better investigate their activities—this one-eyed man, Freund—this handy gunman in spectacles—and whoever it was who took a shot at you the other day——”
“Certainly,” said Barres, “and you and I are going to investigate. But how?”
“What about Grogan’s?”
“It’s a German joint now,” nodded Barres. “One of us might drop in there and look it over. Thessa, how do you think we ought to go about this affair?”
Thessalie, who sat on the sofa with Dulcie’s hand clasped in both of hers—a new intimacy which still surprised and pleasantly perplexed Barres—said that she could not see that there was anything in particular for them to do, but that she herself intended to cease living alone for a while and refrain from going about town unaccompanied.