Free French Headquarters had not known that. Karl had got away with that one. He was, however, unaware of the long-reaching arm, the far-seeing eye, the long nose of Mr. Fenton, who existed in a third-floor office in Golden Square. To Karl, Karl Walcz was dead. There lived only Marcel Du Puisse. Therefore Karl was merely a memory to himself, and, incidentally, to his own rather peculiar mind, it seemed better to be Marcel than Karl, possibly safer. The chances one took so far away from Herr Himmler were perhaps not so great as those which existed when one worked in closer proximity. For Herr Himmler had a habit of shooting his own agents for the oddest reasons. For them the sudden bullet or the concentration camp if they knew too little. For them the bullet if they knew too much. So that w
