"Warn your father, mademoiselle; he will listen to you."

"I will," with reassuring vigor. "Tell me, Julie, what has aroused your
suspicion?"

"Many things. When it creeps out that M. Whitney has succeeded, I say to
myself--the Germans, they will be interested. And I wait. Then madame
engages Henry...."

"Henry? The chauffeur?"

"But yes. I do not like Henry, mademoiselle. He is too much in the
house for a chauffeur; I meet him on the stairs, always on his way to
the attic with some message to M. Whitney who works in his studio
there. He laughs and teases me, that Henry, but wait!" Julie's eyes
were blazing. "And that Monsieur Spencer; I trust him not also. Ah,
mademoiselle, do not let him be closeted with your father--he is the
younger and stronger man."

"Julie, are you quite mad?" exclaimed Kathleen, her eyes twice their
usual size.

"No, mademoiselle. I watch; yes, always I watch and listen. Your father
did well to have iron shutters on the windows and new bolts on the door,
but he knows not that I am within call--on the other side of the door."

"Upon my word!" Kathleen's brain was in a whirl. Was Julie's mind
unbalanced? She knew that the Frenchwoman's fiance and two brothers had
been killed early in the war. Had grief for them and anxiety for her