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Monsieur Clavelle; great minds are working-the greatest surprise is yet to come. A secret weapon-perhaps an atom bomb. Besides, we're not all leaving. Eric Lenzinger is remaining and you'll take your orders from him."

Fritz got up. Suddenly Monique's lovely face flashed into his mind, arousing deep suspicion. "How long do you know this woman?" he asked Clavelle.

"Almost two years, Herr Opfenmundt. We plan to get married, as soon as we win."

"That is nice, very nice," said the short-sighted Fritz, deep in thought. The longer his eyes feasted on Monique's face, the more sinister grew his expression.

Fritz Opfenmundt never cared to involve women in his conspiracies, especially women of such deep, exaggerated beauty as Monique's. They unnerved him, and even frightened him. The chance remark he had overheard before, now strengthened his suspicion. The stubborn look on her face removed all doubt. Yes-he decided, there is a devil in this woman.

Abruptly Opfenmundt got up, and with a muttered "Pardon," left the table. Monique's eyes followed him as he entered a telephone booth at the far end of the salon.

In a moment he returned, completely calm. He tapped Clavelle lightly on the shoulder. "May I talk to you alone?" he said gently.

"With pleasure," replied Clavelle.

As the two disappeared into a private room, Monique began planning her capricious offensive. First she would ask Clavelle to serve champagne. She would pretend to be drunk, and take her cue from their actions. Oh how she would tease them! Like a rowboat on swollen waves, like a strip-tease dancer, she would cover this part and uncover that part of her anatomy. Monique enjoyed the highly

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