Sara Lee Kennedy was up at dawn the next morning. There was a very

serious matter to decide, for Henri's plan had included only such hand

luggage as she herself could carry.

Sara Lee carefully laid out on the bed such articles as she could not

possibly do without, and was able to pack into her suitcase less than

a fourth of them. She had fortunately brought a soft wool sweater,

which required little room. Undergarments, several blouses, the sweater

and a pair of heavy shoes--that was her equipment, plus such small

toilet outfit as is necessary when a young woman uses no make-up and

regards cold cream only as a remedy for chapped hands.

The maid found her in rather a dismal mood.

"Going across, miss!" she said. "Fancy that!"

"It's a secret," cautioned Sara Lee. "I am really not sure I am going.

I am only trying to go."

The maid, who found Sara Lee and the picture of Harvey on her dressing

table both romantic and appealing, offered to pack. From the first

moment it was evident that she meant to include the white dress. Indeed

she packed it first.

"You never know what's going to happen over there," she asserted. "They

do say that royalties are everywhere, going about like common people.

You'd better have a good frock with you."

She had an air of subdued excitement, and after she had established the

fact that not only the white frock but slippers and hose also would go

in she went to the door and glanced up and down the passage. Then she

closed the door.

"There was queer goings-on here last night, miss," she said cautiously.

"Spies!"

"Oh, no!" cried Sara Lee.

"Spies," she repeated. "A man and a woman, pretending to be Belgian

refugees. They took them away at daylight. I expect by now they've

been shot."

Sara Lee ate very little breakfast that morning. All through England

it was confidently believed that spies were shot on discovery, a theory

that has been persistent--and false, save at the battle line--since

the beginning of the war. And Henri's plan assumed new proportions.

Suppose she made her attempt and failed? Suppose they took her for a

spy, and that tomorrow's sun found her facing a firing squad? Not,

indeed, that she had ever heard of a firing squad, as such. But she

had seen spies shot in the movies. They invariably stood in front of

a brick wall, with the hero in the center.




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