The bag proved to be full of papers which I felt obliged to read. What might they contain?--romance, scandals, and maybe military secrets? There was a clipping about a mysterious Russian Prince masquerading under the name of Kosloff, and a Red Cross badge and some secret service insignia. Did these badges belong to the blonde lady herself or to the Prince, or to her friend, the diplomat mentioned in the letters? Well, we will see. I searched the lists of American Embassy officials for the diplomat, but without success; I discovered that their names were legion, and the Prince, too, I was unable to trace.
The difficulties lay in the fact that all the letters were signed with nicknames--and with the death of so many people in the war and the length of time which had evidently passed since they were written, most of the avenues of identification had been blocked.
Nevertheless I put notices in several of the Paris papers asking for information regarding a little fair-haired American woman who had disappeared from the Grande Hotel du Nord during the night of the air raid, leaving a black morocco bag in charge of a stranger. The only three letters which I received in answer were as follows:
In reply to your advertisement in _Le Matin_, I would say that I think I saw the woman you refer to at the Café Russe on the Rue des Capuchins one evening in February. She was dining with a big blonde foreigner whom she addressed as Prince. Catching a word or two of their conversation that implied they knew more of the military situation than ordinary civilians should, my suspicions were aroused so when they left, I followed them. The man evidently noticed me and knew my game, for he put the lady in a taxi, telling the driver to go to the Grande Hotel du Nord, and then led me a chase, round corners and down alley ways, finally dodging into a crowded music hall where I lost him.
She was so charming that I could not believe her guilty, and yet, her companion awakened deep distrust in me. I have often wondered if by chance she were a member of our own American secret service and he a German spy. I never saw her again, though if I did, I should know her at once. Since the hotel you mentioned was her destination, it may be that your lady and mine are one and the same. This is all the information I am able to give you, but I hope that even this faintest of clues may lead you a little farther in your search. I beg to remain