A Man in Uniform by Kate Taylor Page A

spying on us and stop them. You know the Jew that there has been all the fuss about in the papers this week, the spy on Devil’s Island?”
    Dubon nodded again, anxious to hear what came next.
    “It was the Statistical Section that originally caught him,” the major said. “I believe they are rather proud of it—guess that’s why everyone knows who they are now.”
    That explained what Fournier had said at the racetrack. The Major Henry who had caught Dreyfus worked in the Statistical Section doing counterespionage. Maybe Dubon could find him.
    “So the Statistical Section caught Dreyfus? How?” he asked his brother-in-law.
    “Found the evidence. All pointed to one man, so off he goes to Guiana for the rest of his days, the bastard. No escaping that place, no matter what the papers say.” Noting Dubon’s interest, he asked, “Why? What did Jean-Jean tell you they did at the Statistical Section?”
    “Something about collecting the shoe sizes of the troops.”
    The major laughed.

TEN
    Dubon was sitting in his office that Monday morning admiring the widow’s nose, or at least the bridge of it. There was a certain delicacy to the way it met her brow, creating a high arch above each eye that gave her an intelligent air when she was seriously considering an issue. She was not a woman to be trifled with, he suspected; a dalliance would be unwise.
    She was restored to fighting spirit that morning and was busy plotting action. She wore a high-necked white blouse underneath a short and narrow-waisted jacket, its bottom hem descending sharply to a V just where her black skirts flared out across her body. It was a modest but flattering silhouette. Why didn’t he confess then and there that he didn’t have a clue how to go about uncovering a spy and pass her on to someone better qualified to help her?
    She had arrived at nine, eager to discuss what she assumed would be strategy. He began gently, feeling that at least he had a better grasp of the situation since his conversations with the military correspondent Fournier and his own brother-in-law, but also knowing it did not look good for the captain.
    “I am sorry to say, first of all, that most in the military seem to believe that your friend’s husband is guilty. I am not sure the false rumors of the captain’s escape have worked in your favor. On the one hand, they have brought the case back into the public eye, but on the other, they have allowed the press to reassure its readers that the government has the right man. I don’t see any impetus in the military to look any further as long as the public is satisfied that justice has been done.”
    “But it hasn’t been done. That is why I came to you in the first place.” Her tone was disappointed. “With your reputation, Maître, I would have thought a case like this would cry out to you, but perhaps you are just not interested, perhaps …”
    It was a bit embarrassing the way she kept returning to his reputation, considering how long ago all that work had been. When he did not respond immediately, she made a little movement to rise from her chair.
    “No, no, Madame.” He reached out to forestall her. He didn’t want her to leave. He liked seeing her sitting there; he liked talking to her, and, he had to confess to himself, he liked the idea that he might be about to run out and solve the captain’s case—he just wished he could think how. He wanted to hand her something that would make her grateful to him.
    “I have made some initial inquiries as to where the case against the captain originates. If we are going to dismantle it, it will be helpful to know how it was built. The court martial was based on certain documents that investigators intercepted indicating there was a spy in French ranks offering secrets to the Germans.”
    She leaned forward eagerly now, as though following his reasoning.
    Encouraged, Dubon continued. “The investigation would have originated in a secret department known as the