"Not much. Anyway, that was only how I managed to get in to see him. After that we talked about ... a good many things."

"Such as?"

She had draped the boa over her shoulders, and was posing in front of the mirror again. "Rudolph Spangler, submarines, other matters that might save French lives . . . and British." Then, suddenly tossing the boa away and turning: "That's correct, Nicky. I may have obtained information to save—"

"Did you sleep with him?"

"Really, Nicky."

"Did you sleep with von Kalle?"

"Not yet." Once again the coquette in spite of herself.

She had picked up a negligee, held it to her shoulders, then frowned and let it drop away. "Nicky, you don't seem to understand. My entire status has changed. Everything I'm doing now has been sanctioned by the French. As a matter of fact I even sent off my first report today."

"Sent it to whom?"

"Captain Ladoux. I was told to report to him."

He dropped a cigarette in the champagne bucket.

"You're quite right, Margaretha. Your entire status has changed. You see, originally they intended to use you to catch a big fish, possibly even Spangler. Ladoux changed all that. Instead of using you as the bait, they're simply going to serve you up as the main dish. It's all being arranged now. You're to be their real catch of the day—Mata Hari, the spy bitch of Berlin."

She was watching him closely again. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about, Nicky." But she did, she simply couldn't accept it.

"It's simple. The war has been going poorly for our side. The commands have been coming in for criticism. Now the slaughter at the Somme has demanded that heads roll. Better yet, that a head rolls. Sixty thousand sods took it at the Somme, twenty thousand dead. Now obviously one can't blame something like that on the generals—bad for morale, worse for the generals. No, you've got to get yourself a bloody scapegoat, someone you can point the finger at and say, 'Look, it wasn't our fault. We were stabbed in the back by a spy.' And everyone knows that the Huns have been using beautiful women to seduce our lads . . . beautiful, scandal-ridden women like yourself."

She was facing the mirror again, but watching her own reflection, not his.

"I know you're only trying to help, Nicky. I know I shouldn't really be angry. But Martial Cazeaux has assured me that—"

"Don't be bloody stupid. Every man doesn't jump through hoops for you. Cazeaux won't even remember talking to you. When the time comes, he won't even remember it—"

"And that's another thing, Nicky. You've always underestimated me. You really have."