“My compliments, whether your guess is born of certainty or not. And you, sir? May I inquire your status?”
“I’m merely a civilian with a season’s Plattsburg training as my only professional experience. I’m afraid you won’t believe this, but it’s quite true. I’m not in either Municipal, State, or Federal service. But I don’t believe I can stand this Hun business much longer without enlisting with the Canadians.”
“Oh. May I ask, then, why you follow that pair yonder?”
“I’ll tell you why. I am a painter. I live at Dragon Court. Soane, an Irishman, is superintendent of the building. I have reason to believe that German propagandists have been teaching him disloyalty under promise of aiding Ireland to secure political independence.
“Coming out of the branch post office this evening, where I had taken some letters, I saw Soane and that fellow, Freund. I really couldn’t tell you exactly what my object was in following them, except that I itched to beat up the German and refrained because of the inevitable notoriety that must follow.
“Perhaps I had a vague idea of following them to Grogan’s, where I knew they were bound, just to look over the place and see for myself what that German rendezvous is like.
“Anyway, what kept me on their trail was noticing you; and your behaviour aroused my curiosity. That is the entire truth concerning myself and this affair. And if you believe me, and if you think I can be of any service to you, take me along with you. If not, then I shall certainly not interfere with whatever you are engaged in.”
For a few moments the young Intelligence Officer looked intently at Barres, the same amused, inexplicable smile on his face. Then:
“Your name,” he said, with malicious gaiety, “is Garret Barres.”