XXI
THE WHITE BLACKBIRD
Refreshed by icy baths and clean linen, and now further fortified against the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune by a supper of cold fowl and Moselle, Captain Renoux and Garret Barres sat in the apartment of the former gentleman, gaily exchanging Latin Quarter reminiscences through the floating haze of their cigars.
But the conversation soon switched back toward the far more serious business which alone accounted for their being there together after many years. For, as the French officer had remarked, a good deal remained to be said between them. And Barres knew what he meant, and was deeply concerned at the prospect.
But Renoux approached the matter with careless good humour and by a leisurely, circuitous route, which polite pussy-footing was obviously to prepare Barres for impending trouble.
He began by referring to his mission in America, admitting very frankly that he was a modest link in the system of military and political intelligence maintained by all European countries in the domains of their neighbours.
“I might as well say so,” he remarked, “because it’s known to the representatives of enemy governments here as well as to your own Government, that some of us are here; and anybody can imagine why.
“And, in the course of my—studies,” he said deliberately, 279 while his clear eyes twinkled, “it has come to my knowledge, and to the knowledge of the French Ambassador, that there is, in New York, a young woman who already has proven herself a dangerous enemy to my country.”
“That is interesting, if true,” said Barres, reddening to the temples. “But it is even more interesting if it is not true.... And it isn’t!”
“You think not?”