"Captain Okewood ... Miss Mary Prendergast," said Monica.

The lady's head, pigtails and all, now appeared. She appeared to be
somewhat mollified.

"I can't say I approve of your way of doing things, Monica," she
observed, but less severely than before, "and I can't think what an
English officer wants in my bedroom at ten minutes of two in the
morning, but if those Deutschers want to find him, perhaps I can
understand!"

Here she smiled affectionately on the beautiful girl at my side.

"Ah! Mary, you're a dear," replied Monica.

"I knew you'd help us. Why, a British officer in Germany ... isn't it
too thrilling?"

She turned to me.

"But, Des," she said, "what do you want me to do?"

I knew I could trust Monica and I resolved I would trust her friend
too... she looked a white woman all right. And if she was a friend of
Monica's, her heart would be in the right place. Francis and I had known
Monica all our lives almost. Her father had lived for years ... indeed
to the day of his death ... in London as the principal European
representative of a big American financial house. They had lived next
door to us in London and Francis and I had known Monica from the days