Gray had coiled a vine around his wrist, and the skin was still laced with red welts. "They met through Michard."

"A chance encounter?"

"More or less."

"So then it was love at first sight. The dashing German officer meets an exotic Eastern dancer. Sudden infatuation turns to lingering desire, and the next thing we know he buys her portrait from the colonel's estate. Now, is that our story, Nicky? Is it?"

Gray faced him. "Look, you can't judge Zelle from the men in her life. You simply can't do it."

"Oh, really?"

"She has ... different standards. She has affairs. She gets involved in things, but for Godsake, it doesn't mean she's a spy."

Southerland had moved to Gray's side again, both staring at a foot of stagnant water filled with weeds and rotting tubers. "Listen to me, Nicky. The Germans have her on their books in Amsterdam."

"Go away, Martin."

"Nicky, I'm not lying to you. They bought her for twenty thousand frances."

"Leave me alone—"

"Her case officer is an old hand named Karl Cramer. He pays her on a submission basis."

"I said leave me alone."

They came together again in the afternoon, first in a latticed summer house, then along a less devious path through wasted shrubbery and high grass. Someone had planted a vegetable garden between the laurels and the far wall, but a late chill had left the stalks black.

"I shall be candid with you," Southerland began. "Were this my case, I probably would have dropped it. All right, so she's been dancing with the Germans—it hardly seems to represent a tangible threat. That's the way I tend to see it. There are those, however, who tend to see it otherwise."

Gray looked at him. "Are you talking about Charles Dunbar, Martin? Is that what this is all about?"

Southerland sighed. "I suppose it's embarrassing, really. I mean, I recruited the man and now he's virtually running the show with his Mata Hari campaign. Rather clever, though, how he seized the reins. More or less circumvented the Fourth Floor by enlisting the French. And once the French became involved . . . well, it just snowballed, rather."

"What in hell makes you think I'll go along with this . . . this whatever it is you spooks have in mind?"

"Look, Nicky, it's already set in place. If not you, then, I'm afraid, it's somebody else. Don't you think she has a better chance with you? And remember, hard as it may be for you to conceive of it, she just may be guilty . . . and even you, with your feelings, couldn't abide that . . ."

Gray ran his hand across his mouth—still the smell of cordite. "All right, Martin, what's on?"

"You're to watch her. You're to gain her trust in whatever manner you see fit, and then watch her until you've found out precisely who she's running with. If she is, of course."

"And what do I tell her?"

"Oh, I think that's really up to you . . ."