“You’re absolutely right, Sweetness! Wait! I begin to see—to see things—see something—interesting——”
He looked up at Thessalie:
“D’Eblis, Ferez Bey, Von-der-Goltz Pasha, Excellenz, Berlin—all these were mixed up with this German-American banker, Adolf Gerhardt, were they not?”
“It was Gerhardt’s money, I am sure, that bought the Mot d’Ordre from d’Eblis for Ferez—that is, for Berlin,” she said.
“Do you mean,” asked Westmore, “the New York banker, Adolf Gerhardt, of Gerhardt, Klein & Schwartzmeyer, who has that big show place at Northbrook?”
Barres smiled at him significantly:
“What do you know about that, Jim! If we go to Foreland we’re certain to be asked to the Gerhardt’s! They’re part of the Northbrook set; they’re received everywhere. They entertain the personnel of the German and Austrian Embassies. Probably their place, Hohenlinden, is a hotbed of German intrigue and propaganda! Thessa, how about you? Would you care to risk recognition in Gerhardt’s drawing-room, and see what information you could pick up?”
Thessalie’s cheeks grew bright pink, and her dark eyes were full of dancing light:
“Garry, I’d adore it! I told you I had never been a spy. And that is absolutely true. But if you think I am sufficiently intelligent to do anything to help my country, I’ll try. And I don’t care how I do it,” she 223 added, with her sweet, reckless little laugh, and squeezed Dulcie’s hand tightly between her fingers.
“Do you suppose Gerhardt would remember you?” asked Westmore.