THE SPY


By Richard Harding Davis



My going to Valencia was entirely an accident. But the more often I
stated that fact, the more satisfied was everyone at the capital that I
had come on some secret mission. Even the venerable politician who
acted as our minister, the night of my arrival, after dinner, said
confidentially, "Now, Mr. Crosby, between ourselves, what's the game?"

"What's what game?" I asked.

"You know what I mean," he returned. "What are you here for?"

But when, for the tenth time, I repeated how I came to be marooned in
Valencia he showed that his feelings were hurt, and said stiffly: "As
you please. Suppose we join the ladies."

And the next day his wife reproached me with: "I should think you could
trust your own minister. My husband NEVER talks--not even to me."

"So I see," I said.

And then her feelings were hurt also, and she went about telling people
I was an agent of the Walker-Keefe crowd.

My only reason for repeating here that my going to Valencia was an