Given such evenings with Southerland, and days with the others in the Richmond annex, it seems possible to believe that Dunbar was diverted from thoughts of Zelle. There is, after all, something almost sexual about the secret world, something captivating. Perhaps it is the odd mixture of terror and secrecy. Perhaps it is the power of the secrets themselves. Whatever, Dunbar would maintain that Zelle was not really a factor in his life then, that she was merely a figure from a dream, a dream in which he either saw her coming back to him or else saw her slowly crushed like a swallow's egg.

Her name came up only once more that first year, a casual reference over a dinner table in Knightsbridge. Apparently someone had seen her perform abroad, while someone else had read about her in the newspapers. She was described as a remarkably alluring woman, but certainly not a lady. Dunbar kept silent and waited for the topic of discussion to change.

Yet regardless of how long one waited, she could never be entirely dismissed; and although she might lie dormant for years, there would always come a day when one had no choice but to deal with her.

That day came in the spring—a gray Thursday in April, 1913. Dunbar had arrived at the annex early and found Southerland waiting for him on the staircase. They went down to the garden, a dismal place, little more than a ragged strip of lawn and a few strangled shrubs.

There was no preamble. "It's about that woman," Southerland said. "I'm afraid she turned up again with Spangler."

They sat on a bench beneath the trellis. There was a view of red bricks and little else. There were sounds of typewriters from the window above.

"Of course nothing has been confirmed," Southerland added, "but I don't think we can ignore the signs. Apparently it happened in Madrid about eight days ago. It seems that she's been performing there, and Spangler approached her in the lobby of the Ritz. They've been seen all over town ever since."

For the moment Dunbar couldn't understand why he felt nothing, like a block of wood or a lump of granite. Nothing.

"Naturally you'll be talking to the Director, but first I thought I'd explain a few things, unofficially."

"She won't play with us," Dunbar said at last. "Regardless of what the speculation is, she's not the type to play ... at least not for money or anything like that."

"Oh, I think I'm aware of her limitations."

"The best we can do is watch."

"Precisely. She'll help us keep Spangler in the picture."

"And she won't be an easy target. Her life tends to be erratic. I mean, there are days when she never leaves bed."