When Barres opened the front door he saw Renoux standing there in the shadow of the porch, silhouetted against the starlight.  They exchanged a silent grip; Renoux stepped inside; Barres closed the front door.

“Shall I light up?” he asked in a low voice.

“No.  There are complications.  I’ve been followed, I think.  Take me somewhere near a window which commands the driveway out there.  I’d like to keep my eye on it while we are talking.”

“Come on,” said Barres, under his breath.  He guided Renoux through the shadowy entrance hall to the library, moved two padded armchairs to the window facing the main drive, motioned Renoux to seat himself.

“When did you arrive?” he asked in a cautious voice.

“This morning.”

“What!  You got here before we did!”

“Yes.  I followed Souchez and Alost.  Do you know who they were following?”

“No.”

“One of your guests at dinner this evening.”

“Skeel!”

Renoux nodded: 

“Yes.  You saw them start for the train.  Skeel was on the train.  But the conference at your studio delayed me.  So I came up by automobile last night.”

“And you’ve been here all day?”

Renoux nodded, but his keen eyes were fixed on the drive, shining silver-grey in the starlight.  And his gaze continually reverted to it while he continued speaking: 

“My friend, things are happening.  Let me first tell you what is the situation.  Over this entire hemisphere German spies are busy, German intrigue and propaganda are being accelerated, treason is spreading from a thousand foci of infection.

“In South America matters are very serious.  A revolution is being planned by the half million Germans in Brazil; the neutrality of Argentine is being most grossly violated and Count Luxburg, the boche Ambassador, is already tampering with Chile and other Southern Republics.

“Of course, the Mexican trouble is due to German intrigue which is trying desperately to involve that Republic and yours and also drag in Japan.

“In Honolulu the German cruiser which your Government has interned is sending out wireless information while her band plays to drown the crackle of the instrument.

“And from the Golden Gate to the Delaware capes, and from the Soo to the Gulf, the spies of Germany swarm in your great Republic, planning your destruction in anticipation of the war which will surely come.”

Barres reddened in the darkness and his heart beat more rapidly: 

“You think it really will come?”

“War with Germany?  My friend, I am certain of it.  Your Government may not be certain.  It is, if you permit a foreigner to say so-an-unusual Administration....  In this way, for example:  it is cognisant of almost everything treasonable that is happening; it maintains agents in close contact with every mischief-hatching German diplomat in this hemisphere; it even has agents in the German Embassies-agents unsuspected, who daily rub elbows with German Ambassadors themselves!

“It knows what Luxburg is doing; it is informed every day concerning Bernstorff’s dirty activities; the details of the Mexican and Japanese affairs are familiar to Mr. Lansing; all that happens aboard the Geier, the interned German liners-all that occurs in German consulates, commercial offices, business houses, clubs, cafes, saloons, is no secret to your Government.

“Yet, nothing has been done, nothing is being done except to continue to collect data of the most monstrous and stupendous conspiracy that ever threatened a free nation!  I repeat that nothing is being done; no preparation is being made to face the hurricane which has been looming for two years and more, growing ever blacker over your horizon.  All the world can see the lightning playing behind those storm clouds.

“And, my God!-not an umbrella!  Not an order for overshoes and raincoats!...  I am not, perhaps, in error when I suggest that the Administration is an-unusual one.”

Barres nodded slowly.

Renoux said: 

“I am sorry.  The reckoning will be heavy.”

“I know.”

“Yes, you know.  Your great politician, Mr. Roosevelt, knows; your great Admiral, Mahan, knew; your great General, Wood, knows.  Also, perhaps some million or more sane, clear thinking American citizens know.”  He made a hopeless gesture.  “It is a pity, Barres, my friend....  Well-it is, of course, the affair of your people to decide....  We French can only wait....  But we have never doubted your ultimate decision....  Lafayette did not live in vain.  Yorktown was not merely a battle.  Your Washington lighted a torch for your people and for ours to hold aloft eternally.  Even the rain of blood drenching our Revolution could not extinguish it.  It still burned at Gravelotte, at Metz, at Sedan.  It burned above the smoke and dust of the Commune.  It burned at the Marne.  It still burns, mon ami.”

“Yes.”

“Alors -” He sat silent for a few moments, his gaze intent on the starry obscurity outdoors.  Then, slow and pleasantly: 

“The particular mess, the cooking of which interests my Government, the English Government, and yours, is now on the point of boiling over.  It’s this Irish stew I speak of.  Poor devils-they must be crazy, every one of them, to do what they are already beginning to do....  You remember the papers which you secured?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what we did last night at Grogan’s has prematurely dumped the fat into the fire.  They know they’ve been robbed; they know that their plans are in our hands.  Do you suppose that stops them?  No!  On the contrary, they are at this very moment attempting, as you say in New York, to beat us to it.”

“How do you mean?”

“This way:  the signal for an Irish attempt on Canada is to be the destruction of the Welland Canal.  You remember the German suggestion that an ore steamer be seized?  They’re going to try it.  And if that fails, they’re to take their power boat into the canal anyway and blow up a lock, even if they blow up themselves with it.  Did you ever hear of such madness?  Mon dieu, if only we had those men under your flag on our western front!”

“Do you know who these men are?” asked Barres.

“Your dinner guest-Murtagh Skeel-leads this company of Death.”

“When?”

“Now!  To-morrow!  That’s why I’m here!  That’s why your Secret Service men are arriving.  I tell you the mess is on the point of boiling over.  The crew is already on its way to take over the launch.  They’re travelling west singly, by separate trains and routes.”

“Do you know who they are-these madmen?”

“Here is the list-don’t strike a light!  I can recall their names, I think-some of them anyway -”

“Are any of them Germans?”

“Not one.  Your German doesn’t blow himself up with anything but beer.  Not he!  No; he lights a fuse and legs it!  I don’t say he’s a coward.  But self-immolation for abstract principle isn’t in him.  There have been instances resembling it at sea-probably not genuine-not like that poor sergeant of ours in 1870, who went into the citadel at Laon and shoved a torch into the bin of loose powder under the magazine....  Because the city had surrendered.  And Paris was not many miles away....  So he blew himself up with citadel, magazine, all the Prussians in the neighbourhood, and most of the town....  Well-these Irish are planning something of that sort on the Welland Canal....  Murtagh Skeel leads them.  The others I remember are Madigan, Cassidy, Dolan, McBride-and that fellow Soane! -”

“Is he one of them?”

“He surely is.  He went west on the same train that brought Skeel here.  And now I’ll tell you what has been done and why I’m here.

“We haven’t located the power-boat on the lake.  But the Canadians are watching for it and your agents are following these Irishmen.  When the crew assembles they are to be arrested and their power-boat and explosives seized.

“I and my men have no official standing here, of course-would not be tolerated in any co-operation, officially.  But we have a certain understanding with certain authorities.”

Barres nodded.

“You see?  Very well.  Then, with delicacy and discretion, we keep in touch with Mr. Skeel....  And with other people....  You see?...  He is abed in the large house of Mr. Gerhardt over yonder at Northbrook....  Under surveillance....  He moves?  We move-very discreetly.  You see?”

“Certainly.”

“Very well, then.  But I am obliged to tell you, also, that the hunting is not done entirely by our side.  No!  In turn, I and my men, and also your agents, are being hunted by German agents....  It is that which annoys and hampers us, because these German agents continually dog us and give the alarm to these Irishmen.  You see?”

“Who are the German agents?  Do you know?”

“Very well indeed.  Bernstorff is the head; Von Papen and Boy-ed come next.  Under them serve certain so-called ’Diplomatic Agents of Class N’-Adolf Gerhardt is one of them; his partners, Otto Klein and Joseph Schwartzmeyer are two others.

“They, in turn, have under them diplomatic agents of the second class-men such as Ferez Bey, Franz Lehr, called K17.  You see?  Then, lower still in the scale, come the spies who actually investigate under orders; men like Dave Sendelbeck, Johnny Klein, Louis Hochstein, Max Freund.  And, then, lowest of all in rank are the rank and file-the secret ‘shock-troops’ who carry out desperate enterprises under some leader.  Among the Germans these are the men who sneak about setting fires, lighting the fuses of bombs, scuttling ships, defacing Government placards, poisoning Red Cross bandages to be sent to the Allies-that sort.  But among them are no battalions of Death. Non pas! And, for that, you see, they use these Irish.  You understand now?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, then!  I trust you absolutely, Barres.  And so I came over to ask you-and your clever friends, Mademoiselle Dunois, Miss Soane, Mr. Westmore, to keep their eyes on this man Skeel to-morrow afternoon and also to-morrow evening.  Because they will be guests at the Gerhardts’.  Is it not so?”

“Yes.”

“Well, your Government’s agents will be there.  They will also be in the neighbourhood, watching roads and railway stations.  I have one man in service with the Gerhardts-their head chauffeur.  If anything happens-if Skeel tries to slip away-if you miss him-I would be very grateful if you and your friends notify the head chauffeur, Menard.”

“We’ll try to do it.”

“That’s all I want.  Just get word to Menard that Skeel seems to be missing.  That will be sufficient.  Will you say this to your friends?”

“Yes, I will, Renoux.  I’ll be glad to.  I’ll be particularly happy to offer to Miss Dunois this proof of your confidence in her integrity.”

Renoux looked very grave.

“For me,” he said, “Miss Dunois is what she pretends to be.  I have so informed my Government at home and its representatives at Washington.”

“Have you heard anything yet?”

“Yes, a telegram in cipher from Washington late this afternoon.”

“Favourable to her?”

“Yes.  Our Ambassador is taking up immediately the clues Miss Dunois furnished me last night.  Also, he has cabled at length to my home Government.  At this hour, no doubt, d’Eblis, Bolo, probably an ex-minister or two, are being watched.  And in this country your Government is now in possession of facts which must suggest a very close surveillance of the activities of Ferez Bey.”

“Where is he?”

Renoux shook his head: 

“He was in New York.  But he gave us the slip.  An eel!” he added, rising.  “Oh, we shall pick up his slimy traces again in time.  But it is mortifying....  Well, thank you, mon ami.  I must go.”  And he started toward the hall.

“Have you a car anywhere?” asked Barres.

“Yes, up the road a bit.”  He glanced through the sidelight of the front door, carelessly.  “A couple of men out yonder dodging about.  Have you noticed them, Barres?”

“No!  Where?”

“They’re out there in the shadow of your wall.  I imagined that I’d be followed.”  He smiled and opened the front door.

“Wait!” whispered Barres.  “You are not going out there alone, are you?”

“Certainly.  There’s no danger.”

“Well, I don’t like it, Renoux.  I’ll walk as far as your car -”

“Don’t trouble!  I have no personal apprehension -”

“All the same,” muttered the other, continuing on down the front steps beside his comrade.

Renoux shrugged good-humouredly his disapproval of such precaution, but made no further protest.  Nobody was visible anywhere on the grounds.  The big iron gates were still locked, but the wicket was open.  Through this they stepped out onto the macadam.

A little farther along stood a touring car with two men in it.

“You see?” began Renoux-when his words were cut by the crack of a pistol, and the red tail-light of the car crashed into splinters and went dark.

“Well, by God!” remarked Renoux calmly, looking at the woods across the road and leisurely producing an automatic pistol.

Then, from deeper in the thicket, two bright flames stabbed the darkness and the crash of the shots re-echoed among the trees.

Both men in the touring car instantly turned loose their pistols; Renoux said, in a voice at once perplexed and amused: 

“Go home, Barres.  I don’t want people to know you are out here....  I’ll see you again soon.”

“Isn’t there anything -”

“Nothing.  Please-you would oblige me by keeping clear of this if you really desire to help me.”

There were no more shots.  Renoux stepped leisurely into the tonneau.

“Well, what the devil do you gentlemen make of this?” Barres heard him say in his cool, humorous voice.  “It really looks as though the boches were getting nervous.”

The car started.  Barres could see Renoux and another man sitting with pistols levelled as the car glided along the fringe of woods.  But there were no more shots on either side, and, after the car had disappeared, Barres turned and retraced his way.

Then, as he entered his own gate by the side wicket, and turned to lock it with his own key, an electric torch flashed in his face, blinding him.

“Let him have it!” muttered somebody behind the dazzling light.

“That’s not one of them!” said another voice distinctly.  “Look out what you’re doing!  Douse your glim!”

Instantly the fierce glare faded to a cinder.  Barres heard running feet on the macadam, the crash of shrubbery opposite.  But he could see nobody; and presently the footsteps in the woods were no longer audible.

There seemed to be nothing for him to do in the matter.  He lingered by the wicket for a while, peering into the night, listening.  He saw nothing; heard nothing more that night.