After stopping at the Captain’s rooms next afternoon and not finding him, I was beginning to feel sort of depressed, because I couldn’t be running in there every hour or so and his man didn’t know just what time he would be back; but that evening, just as Ben and I were trying to decide what to do for excitement, there comes a call for me and I go downstairs to find the Captain himself, in civilian clothes, waiting for me. I was surprised, of course: why the civilian clothes and why should he take the trouble to find me? For a moment I thought he must be wise to the game.

But he wasn’t, for he explained his coming quickly enough.

“If you are free this evening,” he told me, without wasting many words, “everything will be perfect. There’s a party at Madame Gedouin’s and it will be the ideal time to introduce you casually and unsuspiciously. All right?”

I said “surely” and added that we were free all the time for the present, because the General was in the hospital.

“Fine!” he exclaimed. “I don’t mean about the General: he’s a great fellow, only he works too hard, I hear. But if you can just give your time to this matter for a few days, I feel confident that we can get some worth-while results.”

He sounded too darned enthusiastic over this project. I immediately began to wonder just what he expected me to do with this Madame Gedouin who “might like to be loved a little now and then.” Then, too, I wondered about Ben—it suddenly occurred to me that it might be a good thing to have Ben along: he had proved his ability to disrupt threatening dÉnouements several times previously, and probably could be depended upon in a pinch again. But how could I explain the necessity to the Captain. I couldn’t, so I merely asked if I could bring my sidekicker along.

“The General’s chauffeur?” he asked, and when I nodded, he promptly negatived the suggestion, explaining, “You see, this is more or less a delicate matter and we will need to be very good actors to avoid arousing any suspicions. The lady in question knows that I am connected with the Intelligence: that’s one reason why she keeps on good terms with me, and the same reason for my not trying to play her myself.... But I believe we can introduce you perfectly, easily, naturally, in fact, because I shall say frankly that you are the brother of the young lady to whom I am engaged.... If I say that, your presence will seem perfectly natural, but to make matters better, I’ll let it be known that you are very close to a prominent general: that will help, I’m sure.... So you run along up and make some excuses to your friend. I’ve a car outside and will wait for you.”

I returned to our room and told Ben that my sister’s beau wanted me to go somewhere with him, so I wouldn’t be able to go out looking for excitement. Ben didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he frankly stated that at last he was going to have an opportunity to pick up a woman without stopping to ask me whether I’d go or not. I wished him luck and left.

During the ride across the city with the Captain—for this woman lived in the Avenue Cartier, across the river—I was further informed as to what I might expect and what I was expected to do. “This Ada Gedouin,” he told me, just as a taxicab missed us by inches, “is a very clever woman.... Nothing ordinary about her at all.... Pretty, vivacious, altogether charming ... about thirty ... originally an American but she married a Captain in the French army and has been a resident of Paris ever since.”

“Where’s the Captain?” I inquired suspiciously.

“Dead,” he continued. “Killed in action two years ago. No question about the Captain, you understand. In fact, the woman may be all right, too—but I don’t think so. She’s too gay, too hospitable and generous for the benefit of officers who may possess valuable military or naval information!... However, our theory is that this woman, whose maiden name was Smith (which might have come from Schmidt) has been an operative of the German intelligence service for a long period of years—I mean, that she may have married Captain Gedouin for the very definite purpose of establishing herself safely here in the event of war, and of making the necessary connections for the obtaining of desired information about troop movements and concentrations and large scale operations plans.... You see, Canwick, her position is perfect for the purpose. Through Captain Gedouin she has friends scattered all through the backbone of the French Army and being an American it is reasonable for her to enjoy the company of American officers in and about Paris. She can pick up information without the least trouble or effort, and we are powerless to stop her unless we can find out how she disposes of this information. We’ve made inquiries among officers who have been friendly with her, but you can’t find any man who will admit discussing important military matters in the presence of unmilitary people. No man would admit that he had just happened to mention this fact or that fact, by way of conversation, and entirely without suspicion.... We can’t isolate her and forbid her friends to see her. What we must do is connect her, if there is a connection, with some avenue which we know leads to German information.”

“I understand that,” I remarked, when he stopped for breath.

“Well, I’m taking you completely into my confidence,” he went on, “because I’m sure you will keep the information strictly to yourself. You must act the part of an unsuspecting, more or less unsophisticated and uninformed enlisted man. You needn’t drop any hints about General Backett—it will be enough that she knows of the connection. In fact, the less you say the better, because your reticence may lead her to believe that you are worth cultivating. You understand, I’m sure.”

We rode some distance in silence, but my mind was laboring hard and I finally managed to ask the question that had been bothering me all the time. “Just what am I supposed to do—how far should I go with this woman?”

He laughed. “Go the limit, if the opportunity presents itself.... When you see her, you’ll agree that no good soldier would be reluctant.... She’s a beauty, and if she decides to cultivate your friendship, you can depend upon having a beautiful time.... But don’t get it into your head that you have made a conquest, because ten chances to one she’ll just be playing you for some ulterior purpose. Just keep your head and let your ears pick up as much as they can.... If things go as I hope they will, she’ll try to make you feel perfectly at home in her apartment ... probably let you sleep there now and then ... she seems to think it’s an honor to get fellows drunk and have them put to bed in her home: which is, of course, suspicious, because when a man’s drunk he’s liable to say anything and after he’s asleep he can’t know who goes through his clothes or reads his pocket notebooks.... Oh, it’s all jolly and cheery and appears natural enough, but it’s up to you to see if it is so natural as it seems.... It’s a wonderful opportunity: she can’t have any knowledge of you, since you’ve never been connected with the Intelligence, and you’re just young enough and clean looking enough to appeal to her—at least, that’s the way I dope it out. We’ll see how close I come to the truth.... And here we are.”

The house was a dark stone edifice, in appearance somewhat like an American apartment house except that this looked too old to be like any American dwelling house. I guessed at once that it had been a studio building before the war: this side of the Seine is full of old houses like that, used by art students because of the low rents and other advantages. American visitors in Paris used to use such places, too, because of their inexpensiveness and privacy.

Madame Gedouin’s apartment, though, surprised me, for it was spacious and well decorated—not at all what one would expect from seeing the outside of the building. Very obviously the Madame didn’t live here just to save money, for the furnishings and decorations and bric-a-brac were all obviously expensive. The whole atmosphere of the place spoke of plenty of money and hospitality.

There were a dozen or more people there when we arrived and I noted at once that the men were all officers above the rank of Captain. And the women did not include a single one without beauty or charm in one way or another.

Madame Gedouin came forward to welcome us and I would have said that she was genuinely happy to see my companion. Taking his hand, she exclaimed, in a vibrant, thrilling voice, “I’m so happy that you could come, Captain Winstead! You are such a busy man that I feel highly honored whenever you spare a few moments to us care-free creatures.”

The Captain smiled that engaging smile of his and told her that he sincerely appreciated her flattering opinion. Then he turned to me and said, “I hope you won’t mind my bringing this chap with me, Mrs. Gedouin.... He happens to be my best girl’s brother and is dependent upon me to show him a good time during his short stay in Paris.... Sergeant Canwick ... Madame Gedouin.” And he stepped back to permit us to acknowledge the introduction, then observed pleasantly, “I felt that I couldn’t go wrong in bringing him here, ... you always have such perfectly delightful times here, you know.”

“Now—” she indulged in a little silvery laugh, like the sound of Chinese bells. “No flattery, Captain.... Just enjoy yourselves.... We’ve any amount of excellent champagne, there’s wine in abundance, and I shouldn’t wonder if there were a sip of cognac for you, if you wished it....”

And that’s how I met Madame Gedouin. We made ourselves at home. The Captain introduced me to the officers and women whom he knew and the hostess made me acquainted with the others. I said frankly that I felt rather uncomfortable in the presence of so many bars, maple leaves and stars, and a hard-boiled-looking colonel stepped up and shook hands with me and said, “There’s no war on in here, Sergeant. Just imagine we haven’t any clothes on—we’re all human beings, you know.”

A major who apparently had been imbibing too freely burst out with a loud laugh that made everyone else warm up to me, and very soon I found myself being plied with champagne—far more than I would ever dare touch.... Altogether it was a good party and I enjoyed myself.

But the Captain’s fond hopes didn’t seem to be coming true, for the lady of the house spent more time with that hard-boiled colonel and a young captain than she did with me—in fact, she was just nice to me throughout the evening of drinking, dancing and telling risquÉ anecdotes. The party broke up into couples and I found myself paired off with a pretty woman by the name of Fernande Something-or-other. The Captain—and I could have pulled his hair out when I saw him—very early engaged the attention of a very dark, very seductively attractive girl and disappeared with her into another part of the apartment. I could hardly talk straight during their absence—but I guess it wasn’t as bad as it looked for they kept running in and out during the rest of the entertainment.... Anyway, in so far as the Captain’s plans were concerned, the evening was a total loss—or perhaps not quite, for Madame Gedouin did invite the Captain and me to join a foursome for dÉjeuner on the morrow. But I suspected she liked the Captain himself. Couldn’t blame her: he was a handsome devil, and what a man with the women! There wasn’t anything he couldn’t discuss in a nice way with anyone: and he could talk to generals as easily and as convincingly as with the women. I must say that I think I had good taste when it comes to men.

When I rolled in at an ungodly hour in the morning, Ben was nowhere to be seen. Past breakfast and there was only one thing that could keep him away from his meals: well, maybe he’d quiet down for a while now. I hoped he wouldn’t come back before I got away to-day: I hated to make excuses for running out without him. However, there was no book of etiquette when it came to war.

The luncheon engagement went off on schedule and there was a lot of drinking and talking, but I didn’t drink much and there wasn’t a great deal that I could talk about, so I just played the bashful boy and let the Captain do the vocal work.

Our hostess did ask me if I was enjoying my stay in Paris, to which I replied, as sincerely as possible, “I’ve really enjoyed meeting you and your friends far more than anything else.”

“Isn’t that sweet of you?” she said. “You do say the nicest things. I’m afraid you are understudying that gallant gentleman across from me,” indicating the Captain. “Is that not so, Captain?”

“Not a very good example,” laughed the Captain.

“Well—” she went on, smiling at us in turn, “I feel it my duty to say that if he follows in your footsteps in this city, he won’t for long be the sweet innocent boy that he is now.... You know, Sergeant, the Captain is really notorious.... He’s responsible for more than half the female suicides in the Seine!”

“Barking dogs seldom bite,” I observed, with a smile, although I didn’t feel like smiling. “Perhaps the Captain doesn’t do as much damage as it seems he should.... Some of the greatest swordsmen very seldom really fight, you know.”

“Bravo!” exclaimed the Madame. “I guess you’re not as innocent as you look. Perhaps we’d better wait until you have demonstrated before we reach any conclusions. Yes, Captain?”

“It’s these quiet little devils who are the real devils,” declared my companion, winking at me. “I can think of any number of men who are perfectly devastating in a drawing-room but——”

“Yes...?” she encouraged him, laughing that tinkling silver laugh that was so delightful.

“Why—in a boudoir, it’s a different matter,” the Captain finished lamely.

“I think you need another little stimulant,” declared the Madame promptly. “Your conversational courage is not up to scratch....” She procured another bottle of something and set it at his elbow. Then while he opened it, she remarked, “What you meant to say, I believe, Captain, was the same as General Bargrave said the other evening: that you can’t judge a man’s bed manners by his table manners.”

We all laughed at that frank bon mot and the Captain replied in kind, “I’ve known lovely ladies to prove false alarms, too.”

“TouchÉ!” cried the lady—and I fell to wondering whether she meant that he meant her or was just acknowledging a good thrust at women in general. From what he told me, he had never investigated this woman personally; she couldn’t be much of a false alarm, if he still would like to gain her favor.

Well, anyway, that’s the kind of a party it was: harmless and pleasant and, so far as I could see, marking no progress toward our goal. However, the Captain didn’t seem to be very downhearted about it. He said for me to keep at it—and we’d call again day after to-morrow.

Ben returned to the land of the living that day and we went out to see the General in the afternoon. He said he had a wonderful time: “When you ain’t around to cramp my style, I just bowl over the mademoiselles like tin soldiers! There’s about ten thousand women in this burg that have been just waitin’ fer me to appear!”

“Gosh—you’ll have to work pretty fast, won’t you?” I observed.

“Boy,” he retorted, “I’m built for it! It’ll be hard work, but I ain’t the kind to disappoint the ladies. I can stand it, don’t worry.”

That man certainly had confidence in himself. I told him I guessed he was the “bull” in boulevard.

He said, “No wise cracks! I’m God’s answer to these mademoiselles’ prayers.”

What an answer! “Special delivery,” as it were! Not the message, but the messenger that counts ... but Ben couldn’t see any joke in that crack.

I didn’t have to make excuses to Ben on the third day of the chase; he just ambled away to begin his efforts toward making the demand for women meet the supply, and I joined Captain Winstead at a corner about two blocks away—as he suggested.

He was in civilian clothes and I was glad, because, after all, an enlisted man doesn’t feel entirely comfortable with an officer, regardless of how congenial the officer may try to be. He suggested that we try to find a little vulgar entertainment, and I suspected immediately that he meant go looking for women. But I was wrong: he meant that he wanted to show me some of the “show places.” “There’s a couple of more or less ribald dives we might visit, just to get away from what we are accustomed to,” he explained.

So I followed him and we came at last to a cellar cafÉ, dimly lit and apparently very popular with American soldiers and their women. We found a table, not too conspicuous, and ordered some sweet drinks, because I said I preferred grenadine to anything else. We didn’t talk much while these lasted, but spent our time looking over the crowd in the place. A gaudily clad woman, with one breast threatening any moment to pop out, was singing a French version of a popular American song and some half-drunk Americans were trying to sing with her. The place reeked with stale tobacco smoke and the smell of cheap perfume, but the grenadine tasted good.

“Let’s try a cognac citron now,” suggested my companion, when the grenadine had disappeared and the garÇon stood again at our side.

So we had cognac citron and the Captain began to talk, in a low voice and with quick apprehensive glances here and there at our neighbors. “We’ve got to hurry matters a little,” he informed me. “To-morrow I will not go with you to the Madame’s. I will telephone her and beg off, but I’ll ask her if she would mind entertaining you while I am engaged elsewhere. She knows you are close to General Backett and she knows enough about him to know that he’s the kind of hard-working devil that would keep track of everything that’s going on—so I haven’t any doubt about her willingness to entertain you.”

“But she doesn’t seem to be very crazy about me,” I objected. “She likes you.”

“Oh—don’t let her mislead you. She’s nice to me because it’s part of her job—if she’s what I think she is. And as far as you’re concerned, just take it easy and let her entertain you. Just wait for the breaks. Play with her if she wants to play, stay with her if she wants you to stay, sleep with her, do anything at all that will give you an opportunity of seeing or hearing something.”

He offered me a cigarette and I accepted as I nodded understanding. This job didn’t appeal to me at all, but I couldn’t very well get out of it now. I mean, I hadn’t any excuse that I could give.

I accepted a light and he continued, “If you can, try to get an idea of where her money comes from. She has a bank account down town, but her deposits are very erratic and the checks she gets from the States very seldom tally with the amounts deposited. We have traced the checks to a harmless-looking lawyer in New York, but we haven’t questioned him because we don’t want to give away our hand. We figure that she gets funds from someone here in Paris also, and if we can discover who that party is, we’ll be on the track of real evidence.”

“Don’t you suppose some of these officers tickle the kitty?” I asked, adopting the slang phrase for contributing.

He laughed at that and gave me his reasons for believing that she was not that wanton. “She’s too high brow, too much the social woman, to let herself be under obligations to any man. It would cramp her style and sooner or later ruin her. Anyway, if she were selling it, she’d concentrate on one at a time for better results: but you see she is on good terms with dozens of men all at once.... No, that’s not the explanation. There’s some other source of income. And that source of income is doubtless the outlet for her information, so if you get any hint of a connection of any kind, we’ll play our hunch and follow it to the end. Beginning to-morrow, it’s up to you. You can tell her how busy I am and so forth, just to keep the story straight. And I’ll get in touch with you around noontime each day.”

“All right,” I agreed, and we turned our attention to a group of soldiers at a near-by table who were beginning to warm up for a song. They were singing verses from the famous “Parley Vous” song. I can only repeat a few—but then, you probably know the rest, anyway:

The way they sang this song was for one man to solo the verse part and everyone join in the “parley-vous” part. When it once got going, it went on forever, the crowd joined in to swell the chanting “parley-vous” and as soon as one soloist ran out of verses, someone else took over the lead, and on it went. There was something about it that got you: you couldn’t help but hum along with the melody, and if it continued long enough you found your eyes closing and your senses slipping off into a lull of sleep.

So it was this evening. The Captain broke in once to remark that he had heard at least a hundred verses to that song and I replied that I guessed there was a verse for every town in France and a few extra; then we just had another drink and were content to listen to this Song of the Cities of France.

I couldn’t begin to remember all the variations that we heard that night, but here are some of them:

I had heard some of these before, and a lot of others, but I never heard so many verses all at one time. They bade fair to continue all night, for as soon as one singer lost his wits or his voice, another popped up to carry on. Someone started the series, relating the sad story of one young mademoiselle, which starts with

And this tragic tale ends with telling how the mademoiselle’s son—

It was just at this point that I suddenly became aware of someone’s presence at my shoulder and I looked up to find Jay-Jay Marfield studying me rather contemptuously. I decided, as soon as I recovered from the shock, to take desperate measures at once, obeying the military rule that the best defense is a good offense. I stuck out my hand and exclaimed, “Hello, Jay-Jay, you old hellion—how the hell are you?”

The look on his face changed as much as it would if I had hit him. And before he could recover, I continued with a half-drunken effort to introduce him to my table companion. “Lieutenant Marfield, shake hands with an officer and a gentleman and a judge of good liquor—Captain Winstead!”

The Captain smiled and extended his hand, which Jay-Jay mechanically accepted and shook as the Captain said pleasantly, “Won’t you join us, Lieutenant?”

Jay-Jay hesitated, mumbling something about “a party down the line,” but he finally sat down and explained his presence by saying, “I thought I recognized ... er ... the Sergeant here.”

Captain Winstead saved me from speaking by observing, “Yes—he looks so much like his sister, I imagine it makes you homesick just to look at him.”

“I beg pardon!” Jay-Jay was flustered.

But the Captain was either deliberately malicious, or else the drinks had really affected him, for he proceeded very unconcernedly, “She’s such a beautiful girl and he looks so much like her—and you were so fond of her, you know—or were you——?”

“But—” Jay-Jay was stumped. For the first time since I’d known him he couldn’t talk. I couldn’t decide whether he was mad or just flustered: his appearance indicated both or either. Finally he managed to ask, “How do you happen to know so much about me, Captain?”

“It’s my business,” laughed the Captain. “I remember meeting you, or rather seeing you, in a garden, and later indoors, with this charming young lady who is Canwick’s sister.”

“O-o-h!” says Jay-Jay, beginning to see the light. “I remember you now—you had me going for a moment.” And he managed to smile more congenially, now that he knew whom he faced. “Ever hear from Leona, Captain?” he inquired suddenly, and I could feel his mind’s eye twinkling sardonically at me.

All I could do was stare helplessly at the Captain, wondering what in the devil he would say—not that there should have been any doubt, for of course he hadn’t heard from Leona. Nevertheless, it was just one of those moments when you hope against hope for something unreasonable.

There must be something in mental telepathy. Anyway, I thought I was drunk when I heard that chuckling voice of the Captain’s saying, “Oh, surely—now and then. Of course, she’s rather busy now and having the time of her life out there. You knew she has been helping the boys keep up their morale in the training camps, didn’t you—or did that come off since you left the States?”

You could have felled me with a feather. Just what was the idea anyway? Why should the Captain be talking like that and twinkling his eyes so amusedly. My God, did he suspect me, too?

But I wasn’t the only one who was dumfounded and shivery. I noticed that Jay-Jay gave me a surprised look and fumbled rather awkwardly with the glass which the garÇon had just served him.

And the crazy Captain continued his unconcerned monologue about my clever and bewitching sister, telling the most impossible lies and describing incidents and letters and everything in such convincing detail that I was beginning to be sure he was having a good time at my expense.

Anyway, he got rid of Jay-Jay very shortly and turned his amused glance at me. The more I stared at him the more amused he became, until finally he indulged in outright laughter.

“Really,” I demanded, somewhat falteringly, “have you heard from Leona?”

“Of course not,” he replied promptly. “But you didn’t suppose I was going to let that fellow get away with any uncomfortable remarks, did you?... When you welcomed him so hilariously, I assumed something was up.... And, besides I don’t like the fellow: he’s one of those possessive, proprietary imps, and, remembering your remark about your sister not wanting to marry him, I just indulged in a little embroidery of the truth for my own enjoyment.... You really don’t mind, do you, Canwick?” he asked solicitously. “You know, of course, that I meant no reflection of any sort upon Leona.”

A great sigh of relief came up from the bottommost depths of my lungs. Whew! I burst out laughing and told him he “did it so perfectly, it even convinced me.”

He laughed with me—but I think, rather I hoped, we were laughing at different things.

We had another grenadine apiece and decided to call it an evening, but just before we arose to go, I saw Jay-Jay starting up the stairs to the street. He had a girl with him but he looked across at me very perplexedly. When I caught his eye I burst out laughing and held up my hand “thumb down.” He slapped his cap on the side of his head and pushed his baby roughly up the stairs and out of sight. Even a brave man can’t stand ridicule: Jay-Jay would think twice about being laughed at before he tried any more tricks with me. This mademoiselle was too far away to even think about having to pay: hinky dinky parley-vous? Vive le Cognac!