An intruder in my dressing room! Of odd attire, as though he’d lost a fight with a clothesline. A clever disorienting tactic; his people are most sophisticated. I must be careful now. I kick up my right leg and draw my Remington double-barrel derringer from my garter holster.

No response to the flash of Aryan flesh; he’s a cold one. “You, Palestinian worm, are from the Irgun. But this intrusion will do you no good. We’ve penetrated your group up to the second level.”

“Oh, no, Miss Vaughn. I’m a Methodist …”

“I was wrong,” I snarl. “You’re the espionage methods trainer for the Austrian League. How does it feel to be interrogated yourself?”

“… from Indiana …”

“Now I see,” I growl “You were sent by the Free India Legion. Did you know we’re double-crossing you?” Two gun barrels; two nostrils. Hmm. I try orienting my Derringer this way.

“… and I wanted to ask about the Bete Noire.”

“Ah.” I lower the gun. At last someone has noticed we have it. Reluctantly, I raise it again. “But, now you know too much.”