Later that evening they chatted again, Craven talking abstractly about loyalty and England. Gray supposed that time was running out. He was right. As a parting word Craven left Gray with one insinuating image of the colonel and the dancer. Although Gray knew that the reference had been consciously manipulative, he still couldn't seem to get the image out of his mind—the colonel placing a hand on her breast, a cigar clenched between his teeth.

The last day was tranquil, ending with a long walk to a vale above the tributaries. There were poplars here and open pastures cut with cart tracks. In tune with the landscape, the tone of Craven's speech was also languid, a few inspirational words for an eager young Englishman, with a score to settle.

Of course there were case notes, and of course Craven immediately brought them to Mansfield Cummings in London. This meeting took place in the last week of October. There was a sort of backstairs intimacy to every meeting with Mansfield Cummings. He generally received colleagues in a cramped Richmond flat with a view of a garden lane under ivy. He tended to serve only dry sherry, or jasmine tea and biscuits. He often fiddled with small objects while speaking: a penknife, a cigarette case, an ornamental dagger.

Typically his first questions concerned the German. He said, "I want to know what that monster eats. I want to know where he keeps his money."

But Craven could only describe the man as a ghost or a vampire, depending upon one's point of view.

They also discussed the painter, and Craven characterized him as a reasonably bright young man with serviceable flair for the game. Then they discussed Michard, whom Craven called a bore.

After a second round of drinks the conversation became informal, and Craven made a first passing reference to the dancer improbably named Mata Hari. "She does a sort of oriental display," he said. "Then she takes off her clothing."

In Cummings's personal notes, about four handwritten pages filled with references to the Kaiser and crude drawings of German soldiers, the name Mata Hari appears only once, misspelled, but otherwise unmistakable.

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

MONDAY was cold, with a premature frost turning the dawn streets to ice. Gray left his studio in the usual way, then walked for an hour until he was certain that no one was following. Just beyond the market square Craven was waiting in a room above a vacant brewery. The walls were brown, stained from broken water pipes.