Evening star., 1941-03-16

deck Near the head Of the stairs
a cabin door opened and a mar
stepped out. He almost bumped
into her.
Forgive me-the darkness" ht
apologized. His English was slightly
accented. As he stood aside to lei
her pass she had a startling sense
Of having seen him before. From
the corner of her eye she noted the
number of his cabin, 2l0.
AS she continued to the dining
saloon she had the feeling that he
was watching her.
While sitting on deck, before din
ner, Brinda was approached by the
tall blond who reiterated apologies
for the recent humping accident and
introduced himself as Kurt Larsen
OF Copenhagen. He said he was en-
gagged In civil engineering that took
him throughout Europe, including
even the countries at war. And he
stressed his sense of strict Danish
neutrality.
Larsen seemed amused by Brinda' s
series of naive remarks You
must know considerable about con-
ditions in Germany and France" ."
do the German people ap-
prove Hitler's alliance with Stalin?'
And the food shortage 2"
Brinda Picks Up Clue.
With an ironical smile, the hand
some stranger interrupted: Lets
have a cocktail, Miss Duncan, and
after dinner, may we play ping
pong? Let's not discuss the war
Your eyes are too disturbing for
serious conversation. Have cigar
ette?"
Larsen held out his massive silver
case. Before taking one Brinda
hesitated for a second-she looked
at the mastery giant. He had been
her companion for the past half
hour had she forgotten her
mission-and Dick? It looked as
though she had been magnetized by
the clear light blue eyes Of the Nor
die engineer.
She took a cigarette and arose.
Later Larsen joined her at din
ner. The steward served the hors
d'oeuvres.
This butter is excellent. isn't it,"
exclaimed Larsen, preparing a roll
for Brinda She didn't answer, but
a smile played around her lovely
lips :.
That evening Brinda sat in her
AnNly nhoir.
passengers If only luck were
with her. She had three days left
to succeed in her mission. The VAN
dam would reach Naples then and
the lost list of the British secret
agents would be on its way. -.
She supposed that there were
English secret service men on board
the Vandam. Was she not mad
to attempt this capture-with such
professionals around her?
Who was the Caucasian who called
himself a prospector of oil wells
In Baku e. or the Norwegian
banker with the smiling eyes?
She had danced with a supposed
South American senior and though
his tangoing was perfect, where did
he really come from?
And why waste her time thinking
about men? She might look for
woman spy. -.
Atmosphere Is Tense.
The atmosphere on the liner was
tense-more like in a mental ward
at Bellevue than on luxury liner.
It was one of those wartime voy-
ages when those who are not worry
ing about what may be happen
ing to their homes, or to their bust
ness, sit up all night with their life
belts on, dreading mines or sub
marines.
Brinda's meditation was inter-
rupted by strange looking older
woman. She looked more like me-
dium- priced fortune teller on va
cation, with her colored scarves and
ridiculously rouged cheeks, than the
With five mystery novels under her
arms, she stopped to talk to Brinda
about the weather.
A beautiful platinum blond walked
by. She was a refugee from a
stranded musical comedy company,
which had toured Central Europe,
returning to her native land. The
heels on her shoes were so high she
could hardly balance herself. Never
theless, there was inexplicable sad
ness in her baby blue eyes. Was her
conscience bothering her or did she
worry about her next evening dress?
This was the kind of woman who
would succumb to the fatal charms
of Ajax" the master Nazi spy,
Brinda thought. But the platinum
blond gave no sign Of wanting to
talk to any one. Brinda arose. She
would find pretext. -.
The middle-aged woman imme-
diately occupied the deck chair she
vacated. Brinda had almost reached
the blond when the interesting per
petuum mobile" the eternally walk
ing dark Russian woman, who wore
mannish suit and spoke with
Slavic accent, approached her.
Brinda Has Hunch.
Miss Duncan, won't you make a
fourth at bridge with us?" She
tipped the end of her small cigar.
I'D love to. but I wouldn't dare
Thanks just the same" Then she
added, MY game is awful"
Brinda nodded and hurried on.
The platinum blond had disappeared
tn the meantime.
You still owe me game of ping
pong" 1t was the pleasant voice of
Larsen interrupting her unsuccessful
search. Brinda hesitated; then
asked. What do we play for?"
Perhaps a kiss?"
She sniled-obviously pleased:
Good a kiss it shall be!'
They began the game, after put
ting their evening coats aside.
Brinda was winning, when suddenly
an idea struck her. She started los
ing deliberately. Soon Larsen
counted the score: Nineteen
twsnty-twenty-one! I win and now
I. the prize!"
Pouting like a little girl, Brinda
kissed his left cheek after n1lIrp1llr-