were feasting in the Ice Arena. I happened to be at near-by table,
and saw everything; as well as later hearing the inside of it.

The gold chatelaine lay on the table at her elbow. Upon observing its
position, the waiter--a secret agent on the case--deliberately tipped
over a champagne glass that stood within a few inches of the bag. Of
course, Mademoiselle was worried lest the wine run over on her gown
and while thus preoccupied, the waiter, stammering apologies, mopped
up the table cloth with his serviette--mopped up the wine and cleverly
covering the bag folded it in the napkin and hurried away. In two
minutes he had opened it, abstracted the letter from the young
ordnance officer; and was back, apologizing to the Pavlowa.

"Your pardon, Mademoiselle," he said, handing her the gold
chatelaine." In my haste I picked up this bag by mistake. I suppose
it is yours."

With a slight start she said "yes," took the bag and hurriedly opening
it felt for the letter. To her dismay it was gone. I saw her eyes
narrow a little and then I marveled at time cleverness of the woman.

"No," she suddenly said, "that is not my bag. I never saw it before.
I advise you to find the owner."

Clever Anna! You sacrificed the costly gift, but you went over the
frontier just the same.

The necessary qualifications of an agent vary of course with the class
of work to be done. We can dismiss the waiter and porter class, as
they never receive independent commands and work only under direct