"What if I tell you?"
Her eyes lifted to his in childlike candour. "Need you ask?"
"You are irresistible. … Ask Karl."
She demanded sharply: "Whom?"
"Ekstrom."
"Ah!" Again the adventuress was silent for a little. "What does he know?"
"Ask him, enquire why he murdered von Harden, then what business took him to Ninety-fifth Street twice this evening—once about nine o'clock, again at midnight."
"You must be mad, monsieur. Karl would not dare. …"
"You don't know him—or have forgotten he was trained in the International Bureau of Brussels, and there learned how to sell out both parties to a business that won't bear publicity."
"I wonder," the woman mused. "Never have I wholly trusted that one."
"Shall I give you the key?"
"If you love Karl as little as I. …"
"But where do you suppose the good man is, this night of nights?"
"Who knows? He was not here when I arrived at midnight. I have seen nothing of him since."
"When you do—if he shows himself at all—look him over carefully for signs of wear and tear."
"Yes, monsieur? And in what respect?"
"Look for cuts about his head and hands, possibly elsewhere. And should he confess to an affair with a wind-shield in a motor accident, ask him what happened
