“Come,” she said in her pretty, resolute way, “you and I are perfectly human.  Let’s face this thing together and find out what really is in it.”

She took one armchair, he the other, and she noticed that all his frame was quivering now—­his hands always in restless, groping movement, as though with palsy.  A moment later the butler came with a decanter, ice, mineral water and a tall glass.  There was also a box of cigars on the silver tray.

“You’ll fix your own highball,” she said carelessly, nodding dismissal to the butler.  But she looked only once at McKay, then turned away—­pretence of picking up her knitting—­so terrible it was to her to see in his eyes the very glimmer of hell itself as he poured out what he “needed.”

Minute after minute she sat there by the fire knitting tranquilly, scarcely ever even lifting her calm young eyes to the man.  Twice again he poured out what he “needed” for himself before the agony in his sickened brain and body became endurable—­before the tortured nerves had been sufficiently drugged once more and the indescribable torment had subsided.  He looked at her once or twice where she sat knitting and apparently quite oblivious to what he had been about, but his glance was no longer furtive; he unconsciously squared his shoulders, and his head straightened up.

Without lifting her eyes she said:  “I thought we’d talk over our plans when you feel better.”

He glanced sideways at the decanter:  “I am all right,” he said.

She had not yet lifted her eyes; she continued to knit while speaking: 

“First of all,” she said, “I shall place your testimony and my report in the hands of my superior, Mr. Vaux.  Does that meet with your approval?”

“Yes.”

She knitted in silence a few moments.  He kept his eyes on her.  Presently—­and still without looking up—­she said:  “Are you within the draft age?”

“No.  I am thirty-two.”

“Will you volunteer?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me why?”

“Yes, I’ll tell you why.  I shall not volunteer because of my habits.”

“You mean your temporary infirmity,” she said calmly.  But her cheeks reddened and she bent lower over her work.  A dull colour stained his face, too, but he merely shrugged his comment.

She said in a low voice:  “I want you to volunteer with me for overseas service in the Army Intelligence Department....  You and I, together....  To prove what you have surmised concerning the German operations beyond Mount Terrible....  And first I want you to go with me to Dr. Langford’s hospital ....  I want you to go this afternoon with me. ...  And face the situation.  And see it through.  And come out cured.”  She lifted her head and looked at him.  “Will you?” And in his altering gaze she saw the flicker of half-senseless anger intensified suddenly to a flare of hatred.

“Don’t ask anything like that of me,” he said.  She had grown quite white.