“You’ll find a pair of eyes fascinating you one of these days, never fear,” I said. “Then it will be my turn to smile.”
“Smile away, old chap; you’ll never offend me. We are too old friends for that.”
Chapter Twelve.
The English Tea-Shop.
There was a rap at the door, and Harding entered with a telegram addressed to me. I tore open the flimsy blue paper, and saw that it was in cipher from Berlin. The sender, I knew, was Kaye.
“What’s up?” my friend asked. “Some affair of State?”
“Yes,” I answered mechanically, as I went across to the safe, and took out the decipher-book which gave the key to the cipher used by members of the secret service. By its aid I had quickly transcribed the message, which read:
“Suspicions regarding Yolande de Foville proved beyond doubt. She is a French agent employed indirectly by the Quai d’Orsay. Am returning to-night. In the meantime instruct Osborne to keep strict observation upon her movements.