The lawns below were white with dew. The half moon was also white.

"I missed you," he said suddenly.

She glanced away with a thin smile. "I'm sure."

He ran a knuckle across her cheek, then a finger along the jugular vein. "Look, Paris is impossible for me. Besides, they told me that you had found someone else. A stockbroker."

She smiled again, tearing off a dangling palm leaf. "Yes, a stockbroker. An extremely considerate stockbroker."

"And now?"

"Now I'm considering alternatives."

"Such as?"

"Such as myself."

There were birds among the surrounding leaves, and a stationary cat on the wall. From certain angles Spangler looked like a cat, a sleek Tom from the streets.

She ran her fingers through his hair. "It's different."

"Don't you like it?"

She shrugged. "And where's your uniform?"

"Good question."

She took his hand in order to examine a scar, a pale circle between the thumb and forefinger. "And how exactly did you get this?"

"Opening a bottle of champagne."

"For a woman?"

"For the wife of a general."

"Then where's your medal?"

"It wasn't actually considered hazardous duty. Have dinner with me tonight."

She shook her head. "I'm already engaged for this evening."

"With a man?"

"Maybe."

"Get rid of him."

They lapsed into silence while his eyes continued probing. Then, suddenly back to the heart of the matter: "Margaretha, I want to see you tonight. I very much want to."

She would have moved off again but his eyes still held her. "I told you, not tonight—"

"Yes, tonight," and he kissed her. And again, encircling her waist, molding her breast through the crinoline.

Also according to Dunbar's files, Zelle remained unaware of the surveillance teams; and if Spangler knew he would not have discussed it with her. Again, not true . . . Dunbar was, after all, a lover and victim, and a tyro at the secret life . . .

Midnight, and they had been lying together for a long time. Earlier a chilled wind had risen, leaving her a little unsettled, particularly with the sound of rattling palms. Spangler had that effect on her, unsettling, not in control, which was part of the fascination.

"I'm thirsty," she told him.

There was flat champagne in a bucket of ice, vermouth on an occasional table. There were also untouched melon balls in a bowl and a string of pearls he had given her that afternoon.

The tap water tasted faintly like steel. She put the glass down and moved to the window. Shadows on the wall took on human forms. "Do you want something?"

He shook his head, holding out his hand from the bed. "Just you."

She smiled and moved to the window. His shadow on the opposite wall looked faintly like a bird's—a crane or a hawk? The tip of his cigarette might have been the glowing eye. But finally what caught her attention was the figure of someone in the plaza below ... a boy or a thin man in black.