He patted her hand.

"Dear Sonia," he whispered, "solitude is not the worst thing one has to bear, these days. Try and remember, won't you, that all the men who might have loved you are fighting for your country, one way or another."

"It is all so sad," she faltered, "and you—you are so stern and changed."

"It is with me only as it is with the whole world," he told her. "To-night, though, you have relieved me of one anxiety."

Her eyes once more were for a moment frightened.

"There was danger for poor little me?"

He nodded.

"It is past," he assured her.

"And it is you who have saved me," she murmured. "Ah, Mr. John," she added, as she walked with him to the door, "if ever there comes to me a lover, not for the days only but pour la vie, I hope that he may be an Englishman like you, whom all the world trusts."

He laughed and raised her fingers to his lips.

"Over-faithful, you called us once," he reminded her.

"But that was when I was a child," she said, "and in days like these we are children no longer."



CHAPTER XXVI

Lutchester left Sonia and the Ritz-Carlton a few minutes before midnight, to find a great yellow moon overhead, which seemed to have risen somewhere at the back of Central Park. The broad thoroughfare up which he turned seemed to have developed a new and unfamiliar beauty. The electric lamps shone with a pale and almost unnatural glow. The flashing lights of the automobiles passing up and down were almost whimsically unnecessary. Lutchester walked slowly up Fifth Avenue in the direction of his hotel.

Something—the beauty of the night, perhaps, or some faint aftermath of sentimentality born of Sonia's emotion—tempted him during those few moments to relax. He threw aside his mask and breathed the freer for it. Once more he was a human being, treading the streets of a real city, his feet very much upon the earth, his heart full of the simplest things. All the scheming of the last few days was forgotten, the great issues, the fine yet devious way to be steered amidst the rocks which beset him; even the depression of the calamitous news from the North Sea passed away. He was a very simple human being, and he was in love. It was all so unpractical, so illusionary, and yet so real. Events, actual happenings—he thrust all thoughts of these away from his mind. What she might be thinking of him at the moment he ignored. He was content to let his thoughts rest upon her, to walk through the moonlit street, his brain and heart revelling in that subtle facility of the imagination which brought her so easily to his presence. It was such a vividly real Pamela, too, who spoke and walked and moved by his side. His memory failed him nowhere, followed faithfully the kaleidoscopic changes in her face and tone, showed him even that long, grateful, searching glance when their eyes had met in Von Teyl's sitting-room. There had been times when she had shown clearly enough that she was anxious to understand, anxious to believe in him. He clung to the memory of these; pushed into the background that faint impression he had had of her at the roof-garden, serene and proud, yet with a faint look of something like pain in her startled eyes.

A large limousine passed him slowly, crawling up Fifth Avenue. Lutchester, with all his gifts of observation dormant, took no notice of its occupant, who leaned forward, raised the speaking-tube to his lips, and talked for a moment to his chauffeur. The car glided round a side street and came to a standstill against the curb. Its solitary passenger stepped quietly out and entered a restaurant. The chauffeur backed the car a little, slipped from his place, and followed Lutchester.

By chance the little throng of people here became thicker for a few moments and then ceased. Lutchester drew a little sigh of relief as he saw before him almost an empty pavement. Then, just as he was relapsing once more into thought, some part of his subconscious instinct suddenly leaped into warning life. Without any actual perception of what it might mean, he felt the thrill of imminent danger, connected it with that soft footfall behind him, and swung round in time to seize a deadly uplifted hand which seemed to end in a shimmer of dull steel. His assailant flung himself upon Lutchester with the lithe ferocity of a cat, clinging to his body, twisting and turning his arm to wrest it free. It was a matter of seconds only before his intended victim, with a fierce backward twist, broke the man's wrist and, wrenching himself free from the knees which clung around him, flung him forcibly against the railings which bordered the pavement. Lutchester paused for a moment to recover his breath and looked around. A man from the other side of the street was running towards them, but no one else seemed to have noticed the struggle which had begun and finished in less than thirty seconds. The man, who was half-way across the thoroughfare, suddenly stopped short. He shouted a warning to Lutchester, who swung around. His late assailant, who had been lying motionless, had raised himself slightly, with a revolver clenched in his left hand. Lutchester's spring on one side saved his life, for the bullet passed so close to his cheek that he felt the rush and heat of the air. The man in the center of the road was busy shouting an alarm vociferously, and other people on both sides of the thoroughfare were running up. Lutchester's eyes now never left the dark, doubled-up figure upon the pavement. His whole body was tense. He was prepared at the slightest movement to spring in upon his would-be murderer. The man's eyes seemed to be burning in his white face. He called out to Lutchester hoarsely.

"Don't move or I shall shoot!"

He looked up and down the street. One of the nearest of the hastening figures was a policeman. He turned the revolver against his own temple and pulled the trigger....

Lutchester and a policeman walked slowly back along Fifth Avenue. Behind them, a little crowd was still gathered around the spot from which the body of the dead man had already been removed in an ambulance.

"I really remember nothing," Lutchester told his companion, "until I heard the footsteps behind me, and, turning round, saw the knife. This is simply an impression of mine—that he might have descended from the car which passed me and stopped just round the corner of that street."

"He's a chauffeur, right enough," the inspector remarked. "It don't seem to have been a chance job, either. Looks as though he meant doing you in. Got any enemies?"

"None that I know of," Lutchester answered cautiously. "Why, the car's there still," he added, as they reached the corner.

"And no chauffeur," the other muttered.

The officer searched the car and drew out a license from the flap pocket. The commissionaire from the restaurant approached them.

"Say, what are you doing with that car?" he demanded.

"Better fetch the gentleman to whom it belongs," the inspector directed.

"What's up, anyway?" the man persisted.

"You do as you're told," was the sharp reply.

The commissionaire disappeared. The officer studied the license which he had just opened.

"What's the name?" Lutchester inquired.

The man hesitated for a moment, then passed it over.

"Oscar H. Fischer," he said. "Happen to know the name?"

Lutchester's face was immovable. He passed the license back again. They both turned round. Mr. Fischer had issued from the restaurant.

"What's wrong?" he asked hastily. "The commissionaire says you want me, Mr. Officer?"

The inspector produced his pocketbook.

"Just want to ask you a few questions about your chauffeur, sir."

Fischer glanced at the driver's seat of the car, as though aware of the man's disappearance for the first time.

"What's become of the fellow?" he inquired.

"Shot himself," the inspector replied, "after a deliberate attempt to murder this gentleman."

Mr. Fischer's composure was admirable. There was a touch of gravity mingled with his bewilderment. Nevertheless, he avoided meeting Lutchester's eyes.

"You horrify me!" he exclaimed. "Why, the fellow's only been driving for me for a few hours."

"That so?" the officer remarked, with a grunt. "Get any references with him?"

"As a matter of fact, I did not," Fischer admitted frankly. "I discharged my chauffeur yesterday, at a moment's notice, and this man happened to call just as I was wanting the car out this afternoon. He promised to bring me references to-morrow from Mr. Gould and others. I engaged him on that understanding. He told me that his name was Kay— Robert Kay. That is all that I know about him, except that he was an excellent driver. I am exceedingly sorry Mr. Lutchester," he went on, turning towards him, "that this should have happened."

"So you two know one another, eh?" the officer observed.

"Oh, yes, we know one another!" Lutchester admitted drily.

"I shall have to ask you both for your names and addresses," the official continued. "I think I won't ask you any more questions at present. Seems to me headquarters had better take this on."

"I shall be quite at your service," Lutchester promised.

The man made a few more notes, saluted, and took his leave. Fischer and Lutchester remained for a moment upon the pavement.

"It is a dangerous custom," Lutchester remarked, "to take a servant without a reference."

"It will be a warning to me for the remainder of my life," Fischer declared.

"I, too, have learnt something," Lutchester concluded, as he turned away.



CHAPTER XXVII

Fischer, as he waited for Pamela the following afternoon in the sitting-room of her flat on Fifty-eighth Street, felt that although the practical future of his life might be decided in other places, it was here that its real climax would be reached. Pamela herself was to pronounce sentence upon him. He was feeling scarcely at his best. An examination in the courthouse, which he had imagined would last only a few minutes, had been protracted throughout the afternoon. The district attorney had asked him a great many questions, some rather awkward ones, and the inquiry itself had been almost grudgingly adjourned for a few hours. And here, in Pamela's sitting-room, the first things which caught his eye were the headlines of one of the afternoon papers:

WESTERN MILLIONAIRE ENGAGES THE GIRL HESTE'S MURDERER AS CHAUFFEUR!

ATTEMPTED MURDER AND SUICIDE IN FIFTH AVENUE LAST NIGHT.

Fischer pushed the newspaper impatiently away, and, in the act of doing so, the door was opened and Pamela entered. She came towards him with outstretched hand.

"I see you are looking at the account of your misdeeds," she said, as she seated herself behind a tea tray. "Will you tell me why a cautious man like you engages, without reference, a chauffeur who turns out to be a murderer?"

Fischer frowned irritably.

"For four hours," he complained, "several lawyers and a most inquisitive police captain have been asking me the same question in a hundred different ways. I engaged the man because I needed a chauffeur badly. He was to have brought his references this morning. I was only trusting him for a matter of a few hours."

"And during those few hours," she observed, "he seems to have developed a violent antipathy to Mr. Lutchester."

"I do not understand the affair at all," Mr. Fischer declared, "and, if I may say so, I am a little weary of it. I came here to discuss another matter altogether."

She leaned back in her place.

"What have you come to discuss, Mr. Fischer?"

"That depends so much upon you," he replied. "If you give me any encouragement, I can put before you a great proposition. If your prejudices, however, remain as I think they always have been, on the side of England, why then I can do nothing."

"If I counted for anything," Pamela said, "I mean to say if it mattered to any one what my attitude was, I would start by admitting that my sympathies are somewhat on the side of the Allies. On the other hand, my sympathies amount to nothing at all compared with my interest in the welfare of the United States. I am perfectly selfish in that respect."

"Then you have an open mind to hear what I have to say," Fischer remarked. "I am glad of it. You encourage me to proceed."

"That is all very well," Pamela said, stirring her tea, "but I cannot help asking once more why you come to me at all? What have I to do with any proposition you may have to make?"

"Just this," he explained. "I have a serious and authentic proposition to make to the American Government. I cannot make it officially— although it comes from the highest of all sources—for the most obvious reasons. It may seem better worth listening to to-day, perhaps, than a week ago, so far as you are concerned. That is because you believed in British invincibility upon the sea. I never did."

"Go on, please," Pamela begged. "I am still waiting to realise my position in all this."

"I should like," Fischer declared, "my proposition to reach the President through Senator Hastings, and Senator Hastings is your uncle."

"I see," Pamela murmured.

"My offer itself is a very simple one," Fischer continued. "Your secret service is so bad that you probably know nothing of what is happening. Ours, on the other hand, is still marvellously good, and what I am going to tell you is surely the truth. Japan is accumulating great wealth. She is saving her ships and men for one purpose, and one purpose only. Europe could not bribe her highly enough to take a more active part in this war. Her price was one which could not be paid. She demanded a free hand with the United States."

"This," Pamela admitted, "is quite interesting, but it is entirely in the realms of conjecture, is it not?"

"Not wholly," Fischer insisted. "At the proper time I should be prepared to bring you evidence that tentative proposals were made by Japan to both England and France, asking what would be their attitude, should she provide them with half a million men and undertake transport, if at the conclusion of the war she desired a settlement with the United States. The answer from France and England was the same—that they could not countenance an inimical attitude towards the States."

"You are bound to admit, then," Pamela remarked, "that England played the game here."

"The bribe was not big enough," Fischer replied drily. "England would sell her soul, but not for a mess of pottage. To proceed, however, Japan has practically kept out of the war. She is enjoying a prosperity never known before, and for every million pounds' worth of munitions she exports to Russia, she puts calmly on one side twenty-five per cent, to accumulate for her own use. At the conclusion of the war she will be in a position she has never occupied before, and while the rest of the world is still gasping, she will proceed to carry out what has been the dream of her life—the invasion of your Western States."

"I admit that this is plausible," Pamela confessed, "but you are only pointing out a very obvious danger, for which I imagine that we are already fairly well prepared."

"Believe me," Fischer said earnestly, "you are not. It is this fact which makes the whole situation so vital to you. Later on in our negotiations, I will show you proof of your danger. Meanwhile, let me proceed to the offer which I am empowered to make, which comes direct from the one person in Germany whose word is unshakable."

Pamela changed her position a little, as though to escape from the sunlight which was finding its way underneath the broad blinds. Her eyes were fixed upon her visitor. She listened intently to every word he had to say. Despite some vague feeling of mistrust, which she acknowledged to herself might well have been prejudiced, she found the situation interesting, even stimulating. Her few excursions into the world of high politics had never brought her into such a position as this. She felt both flattered and interested—attracted, too, in some nameless way, by the man's personality, his persistence, his daring, his whole-heartedness. The situation was instinct with interest to her.

"But why make it to me?" she murmured.

"You are to be my delegate," he answered. "Take the substance of what I say to you, to your uncle. Try, for your country's sake, to interest him in it. The offer which I make shall save you a vast amount of sacrifice. It shall save your dislocating the industries of the country and sowing the seeds of a disturbing and yet inadequate militarism. I offer you, in short, a German alliance against Japan."

"The value of that offer," Pamela remarked thoughtfully, "would depend rather upon the issue of the present war, wouldn't it?"

Fischer's face darkened. His tone was almost irritable.

"That is already preordained," he said firmly. "You see, I will be quite frank with you. Germany has lost her chance of sweeping and complete victory. The result of the war will be a return to the status-quo-ante. Yet, believe me, Germany will be strong enough to settle some of the debts she owes, and the debt to Japan is one of these."

"Still, there is the practical question of getting men and ships over from Germany to America," Pamela persisted.

"It is already solved," was the swift reply. "At the proper time I will show you and prove how it can be done. At present, not one word can pass my lips. It is one of the secrets on which the future of Germany depends."

"And the price?" Pamela asked.

"That America adopts our view as to the high seas traffic," Fischer replied. "This would mean the stopping of all supplies, munitions and ammunition from America to England. We offer you an alliance. We ask only for your real and actual neutrality for the remainder of the war. We offer a great and substantial advantage, a safeguard for your country's future, in return for what? Simply that America will pursue the course of honour and integrity to all nations."

"America," Pamela declared, "has never failed in this."

Fischer shrugged his shoulders.

"There is more than one point of view," he reminded her. "Will you take my message with you to Washington to-morrow?"

"Yes," Pamela promised, "I will do that. The rest, of course, remains with others. I do not myself go so far, even," she added, "as to declare myself in sympathy with you."

"And yet," he insisted, with swift violence, "it is your sympathy which I desire more than anything in the world—your sympathy, your help, your companionship; a little—a very little at first—of your love."

"I am afraid that I am not a very satisfactory person from that point of view," Pamela confessed. "I have a great sympathy with every man who is really out for the great things, but so far as you are concerned, Mr. Fischer, or any one else," she went on, after a moment's hesitation, "I have no personal feeling."

"That shall come," he declared.

"Then please wait a little time before you talk to me again like this," she said, rising and holding out her hand. "At present there is no sign of it."

"There is so much that I could offer you," he pleaded, gripping the hand which she had given him in farewell, "so much that I could do for your country. Believe me, I am not talking idly."

"I do believe that," she admitted. "You are a very clever man, Mr. Fischer, and I think that you represent all that you claim. Perhaps, if we really do negotiate—"

"But you must!" he interrupted impatiently. "You must listen to me for every reason—politically for your country's sake, personally because I shall offer you and give you happiness and a position you could never find elsewhere."

For a moment her eyes seemed to be looking through him, as though some vision of things outside the room were troubling her. Her finger had already touched the bell and a servant was standing upon the threshold.

"We shall meet in Washington," Mr. Fischer concluded, with an air of a prophet, as he took his leave.



CHAPTER XXVIII

It was within half an hour of closing time that same afternoon when Lutchester walked into James Van Teyl's office. The young man greeted him with some surprise.

"Will you do some business for me?" Lutchester asked, without any preliminaries.

"Sure!"

"How many Anglo-French will you buy for me? I can obtain credit by cable to-morrow through any bank for twenty or thirty thousand pounds."

"You want to buy Anglo-French?" Van Teyl repeated softly.

His visitor nodded.

"Any news?"

Lutchester hesitated, and Van Teyl continued with an apologetic gesture.

"I beg your pardon. That's not my job, anyway, to ask questions. I'll buy you twenty-five thousand, if you like. Guess they can't drop much lower."

Lutchester sat down.

"Thank you," he said, "I will wait."

A little ripple of excitement went through the office as Van Teyl started his negotiations. It seemed to Lutchester that several telephones and half a dozen perspiring young men were called into his service. In the end Van Teyl made out a note and handed it to him.

"I could have done better for you yesterday," he observed. "The market is strengthening all the time. There are probably some rumours."

A boy went by along the pavement outside waving a handful of papers. His cry floated in through the open window:

REPORTED LOSS OF MANY MORE GERMAN BATTLESHIPS. BRITISH CLAIM VICTORY.

Van Teyl grinned.

"You got here just in time," he murmured, "but I suppose you knew all about this."

"I have known since three o'clock," Lutchester replied, "that all the reports of a German victory were false. You will find, when the truth is known, that the German losses were greater than the British."

"Then if that's so," Van Teyl remarked, "I've got one client who'll lose a hatful which you ought to make. Coming up town?"

"I should like, if I may?" Lutchester said, "to be permitted to pay my respects to your sister."

"Why, that's fine!" Van Teyl exclaimed unconvincingly. "We'll take the subway up."

They left the office and plunged into the indescribable horrors of their journey. When they stepped out into the sunlit street in another atmosphere, Van Teyl laid his hand upon his companion's arm in friendly fashion.

"Say, Lutchester," he began, "I don't know that you are going to find Pamela exactly all that she might be in the way of amiability and so on. I know these things are done on the other side, but here it's considered trying your friends pretty high to take a lady of Sonia's reputation where you are likely to meet your friends. No offence, eh?"

"Certainly not," Lutchester replied. "I was sorry, of course, to see you last night. On the other hand, Sonia is an old friend, and my dinner with her had an object. I think I could explain it to your sister."

"I don't know that I should try," Van Teyl advised. "For all her cosmopolitanism, Pamela has some quaint ideas. However, I thought I'd warn you, in case she's a bit awkward."

Pamela, however, had no idea of being awkward. She welcomed Lutchester with a very sweet smile, and gave him the tips of her fingers.

"I was wondering whether we should see you again before we went," she said. "We are leaving for Washington to-morrow."

"By the three o'clock train, I hope?" he ventured.

She raised her eyebrows.

"Why, are you going, too?"

"I hope so."

"I should have thought most of the munition works," she observed, "were further north."

"They are," he acknowledged, "but I have business in Washington. By the bye, will you both come out and dine with me to-night?"

Van Teyl glanced at his sister. She shook her head.

"I am so sorry," she said, "but we are engaged. Perhaps we shall see something of you in Washington."

"I have no doubt you will," Lutchester replied "All the same," he added, "it would give me very great pleasure to entertain you at dinner this evening."

"Why particularly this evening?" she asked.

He looked at her with a queer directness, and Pamela felt certain very excellent resolutions crumbling. She suffered her brother to leave the room without a word.

"Because," he explained, "I think you will find a different atmosphere everywhere. There will be news in the evening papers."

"News?" she repeated eagerly. "You know I am always interested in that."

"The reports of a German naval victory were not only exaggerated," Lutchester said calmly; "they were untrue. Our own official announcement was clumsy and tactless, but you will find it amplified and explained to-night."

Pamela listened with an interest which bordered upon excitement.

"You are sure?" she exclaimed.

"Absolutely," he replied. "My notification is official."

"So you think if we dined with you, the atmosphere to-night would be different?" she observed, with a sudden attempt at the recondite.

Lutchester looked into her eyes without flinching. Pamela, to her annoyance, was worsted in the momentary duel.

"We cannot always choose our atmosphere," he reminded her.

"Mademoiselle Sonia is perhaps connected with the regulation of the munition supplies from America?"

"Mademoiselle Sonia," Lutchester asserted, "is an old friend of mine. Apart from that, it was my business to talk to her."

"Your business?"

Lutchester assented with perfect gravity.

"Within a day or two," he said, "now, if you made a point of it, I could explain a great deal."

Pamela threw herself into a chair almost irritably.

"You have the cult of being mysterious, Mr. Lutchester," she declared. "To be quite frank with you, you seem to be the queerest mixture of any man I ever knew."

"It is the fault of circumstances," he regretted, "if I am sometimes compelled to present myself to you in an unfavourable light. Those circumstances are passing. You will soon begin to value me at my true worth."

"We had half promised," Pamela murmured, "to go out with Mr. Fischer this evening."

"The more reason for my intervention," Lutchester observed. "Fischer is not a fit person for you to associate with."

She laughed curiously.

"People who saw you at the roof-garden last night might say that you were scarcely a judge," Pamela retorted.

"People who did not know the circumstances might have considered me guilty of an indiscretion," Lutchester admitted, "but they would have been entirely wrong. On the other hand, your friend Fischer is a would-be murderer, a liar, and is at the present moment engaged in intrigues which are a most immoral compound of duplicity and cunning."

"I shall begin to think," Pamela murmured, "that you don't like Mr. Fischer!"

"I detest him heartily," Lutchester confessed.

"I find him singularly interesting," Pamela announced, sitting up in her chair.

"I dare say you do," Lutchester replied. "Women are always bad judges of our sex. All the same, you are not going to marry him."

"How do you know he wants to marry me?" Pamela demanded.

"Instinct!"

"And what do you mean by saying that I am not going to marry him?"

"Because," Lutchester announced, "you are going to marry some one else."

Pamela rose to her feet. There was a little spot of colour in her cheeks.

"Am I indeed!" she exclaimed. "And whom, pray?"

"That I will tell you at Washington," Lutchester promised.

"You know his name, then?"

"I know him intimately," was the cool reply. "What about our dinner to-night?"

"We are going to dine with Mr. Fischer," Pamela decided.

"I really don't think so," Lutchester objected. "For one thing, Mr. Fischer will probably have to attend the police court again later on."

"What about?"

"For having hired a famous murderer to try and get rid of me." Lutchester explained suavely.

"Do you really believe that?" Pamela scoffed. "Why should he want to get rid of you? What harm can you do him?"

"I am trying to find out," Lutchester replied grimly. "Still, since you ask the question, the pocketbook which is on its way to Germany, and which I picked up when Nikasti was taken ill—"

"Oh, yes, I know about that!" Pamela interrupted. "That is the one thing that always sets me thinking about you. What did you do it for? How did you know what it meant to me?"

"Divination, I imagine," Lutchester answered, "or perhaps I was thinking what it might mean to Mr. Fischer."

She looked at him and her face was a study in mixed expressions. Her forehead was a little knitted, her eyes almost strained in their desire to read him; her lips were petulant.

"Dear me, what a puzzle you are!" she exclaimed. "All the same, I am going to wait for Mr. Fischer. It doesn't matter whether one dines or sups. I suppose he will get away from the police court sometime or other."

"But anyway," he protested, "you've heard all that Mr. Fischer has to say. Now I, on the other hand, haven't shown you my hand yet."

"Heard all that Mr. Fischer has to say?" she repeated.

"Certainly! Wasn't he here for several hours with you this afternoon? Didn't he promise you an alliance with Germany against Japan, if you could persuade certain people at Washington to change their tone and attitude towards the export of munitions?"

"This," she declared, trying to keep a certain agitation from her tone, "is mere bluff."

Lutchester was suddenly very serious indeed.

"Listen," he said, "I can prove to you, if you will, that it is not bluff. I can prove to you that I really know something of what I am talking about."

"There is nothing I should like better," she declared.

"To begin with then," Lutchester said, "the pocketbook which Nikasti is supposed to have stolen from your room, the pocketbook of young Sandy Graham, which Mr. Fischer has sent to Germany, does not contain the formula of the new explosive, or any other formula that amounts to anything."

"Just how do you know that?" she demanded.

"To continue," Lutchester said, playing with a little ornament upon the mantelpiece, "you have an appointment—within half an hour, I believe—with Mr. Paul Haskall, who is a specialist in explosives, having an official position with the American Government."

She had ceased to struggle any longer with her surprise. She looked at him fixedly but remained silent.

"It is your belief," he proceeded, "that you are going to hand over to him the formula of which we were speaking."

"It is no belief," she replied. "It is certainty. I took it myself from Graham's pocket."

Lutchester nodded.

"Good! Have you opened it?"

"I have," she declared. "It is without doubt, the formula."

"On the other hand, I am here to assure you that it is not," Lutchester replied.

Her hand was tearing at the cushion by her side. She moistened her lips. There was something about Lutchester hatefully convincing.

"What do you mean?" she demanded. "Is this a trick. You won't get it! No one but Mr. Haskall will get that formula from me!"

Lutchester smiled.

"It will only puzzle him when he gets it! To tell you the truth, the formula is rubbish."

"I don't believe you," she said firmly. "If you think you are going to interfere with my handing it over to him, you are mistaken."

"I have no wish to do anything of the sort," Lutchester assured her. "Make a bargain with me. Mr. Haskall will be here soon. Unfasten the little package you are carrying somewhere about your person, hand him the envelope and watch his face. If he tells you that what you have offered him is a coherent and possible formula for an explosive, then you can look upon me for ever afterwards as the poor, foolish person you sometimes seem to consider me. If, on the other hand, he tells you that it is rubbish, I shall expect you at the Ritz-Carlton at half-past eight."

There was a ring at the bell. She rose to her feet.

"I accept," she declared. "That is Mr. Haskall. And, by the bye, Mr. Lutchester, don't order too elaborate a dinner, for I am very much afraid you will have to eat it all yourself. Now, au revoir," she added, as the door was opened in obedience to her summons and a servant stood prepared to show him out. "If we don't turn up to-night, you will know the reason."

"I am very hopeful," Lutchester replied, as he turned away.



CHAPTER XXIX

At five-and-twenty minutes past eight that evening Lutchester, who was waiting in the entrance hall of the Ritz-Carlton, became just a little restless. At half-past, his absorption in an evening paper, over the top of which he looked at every newcomer, was almost farcical. At five-and-twenty to nine Pamela arrived. He advanced down the lounge to meet her. Her face was inscrutable, her smile conventional. Yet she had come! He looked over his shoulder towards the men's coat room.

"Your brother?"

"I sent Jim to his club," she said. "I want to have a confidential talk with you, Mr. Lutchester."

"I am very flattered," he told her, with real earnestness.

She vanished for a few moments in the cloakroom, and reappeared, a radiant vision in deep blue silk. Her hair was gathered in a coil at the top of her head, and surmounted with an ornament of pearls.

"You are looking at my headdress," she remarked, as they walked into the room. "It is the style you admire, is it not?"

He murmured something vague, but he knew that he was forgiven. They were ushered to their places by a portly maitre d'hotel, and she approved of his table. It was set almost in an alcove, and was partially hidden from the other diners.

"Is this seclusion vanity or flattery?"

"As a matter of fact, it is rather a popular table," he told her. "We have an excellent view of the room, and yet one can talk here without being disturbed."

"To talk to you is exactly what I wish to do," she said, as they took their places. "We commence, if you please, with a question. Mr. Fischer thought that he had that formula and he hasn't. I could have sworn that it was in my possession—and it isn't. Where is it?"

"I took it to the War Office before I left England," he told her simply. "They will have the first few tons of the stuff ready next month."

"You!" she cried, "But where did you get it?"

"I happened to be first, that's all," he explained. "You see, I had the advantage of a little inside information. I could have exposed the whole affair if I had thought it wise. I preferred, however, to let matters take their course. Young Graham deserved all he got there, and I made sure of being the first to go through his papers. I'm afraid I must confess that I left a bogus formula for you."

"I had begun to suspect this," Pamela confessed. "You don't mind being put into the witness box, do you?" she added, as she pushed aside the menu with a little sigh of satisfaction. "How wonderfully you order an American dinner!"

"I am so glad I have chosen what you like," he said, "and as to being in the witness box—well, I am going to place myself in the confessional, and that is very much the same thing, isn't it?"

"To begin at the beginning, then—about that destroyer?"

"My mission over here was really important," he admitted. "I couldn't catch the Lapland, so the Admiralty sent me over."

"And your golf with Senator Hamblin? It wasn't altogether by accident you met him down at Baltusrol, was it?"

"It was not," he confessed, "I had reason to suspect that certain proposals from Berlin were to be put forward to the President either through his or Senator Hastings' mediation. There were certain facts in connection with them, which I desired to be the first to lay before the authorities."

She looked around the room and recognised some of her friends. For some reason or other she felt remarkably light-hearted.

"For a poor vanquished woman," she observed, turning back to Lutchester, "I feel extraordinarily gay to-night. Tell me some more."

He bowed.

"Mademoiselle Sonia," he proceeded, "has been a friend of mine since she sang in the cafes of Buda Pesth. I dined with her, however, because it had come to my knowledge that she was behaving in a very foolish manner."

Pamela nodded understandingly.

"She was the friend of Count Maurice Ziduski, wasn't she?"

"She is no longer," Lutchester replied. "She sailed for France this morning without seeing him. She has remembered that she is a Frenchwoman."

"It was you who reminded her!"

"Love so easily makes people forgetful," he said, "and I think that Sonia was very fond of Maurice Ziduski. She is a thoughtless, passionate woman, easily swayed through her affections, and she had no idea of the evil she was doing."

"So that disposes of Sonia," Pamela reflected.

"Sonia was only an interlude," Lutchester declared. "She really doesn't come into this affair at all. The one person who does come into it, whom you and I must speak of, is Fischer."

"A most interesting man," Pamela sighed. "I really think his wife would have a most exciting life."

"She would!" Lutchester agreed. "She'd probably be allowed to visit him once every fourteen days in care of a warder."

"Spite!" Pamela exclaimed, with a suspicious little quiver at the corner of her lips.

Lutchester shook his head.

"Fischer is too near the end of his rope for me to feel spiteful," he said, "though I am quite prepared to grant that he may be capable of considerable mischief yet. A man who has the sublime effrontery to attempt to come to an agreement with two countries, each behind the other's back, is a little more than Machiavellian, isn't he?"

"Is that true of Mr. Fischer?"

"Absolutely," Lutchester assured her. "He is over here for the purpose of somehow or other making it known informally in Washington that Germany would be willing to pledge herself to an alliance with America against Japan, after the war, if America will alter her views as to the export of munitions to the Allies."

"Well, that's a reasonable proposition, isn't it, from his point of view?" Pamela remarked. "It may not be a very agreeable one from yours, but it is certainly one which he has a right to make."

"Entirely," Lutchester agreed, "but where he goes wrong is that his primary object in coming here was to meet Hie chief of the Japanese Secret Service, to whom he has made a proposition of precisely similar character."

Pamela set down her glass.

"You are not in earnest!"

"Absolutely."

"Nikasti?"

"Precisely! He came all the way from Japan to confer with Fischer. Probably, if we knew the whole truth, those rooms at the Plaza Hotel, and the social partnership of your brother and Fischer, were arranged for no other reason than to provide a safe personality for Nikasti in this country, and a safe place for him to talk things over with Fischer."

"Mr. Fischer was paying nearly the whole of the expenses of the Plaza suite," Pamela observed thoughtfully.

"Naturally," Lutchester replied. "Your brother's name was a good, safe name to get behind. But to conclude with our friend Nikasti. He is supposed to leave New York next Saturday, and to carry to the Emperor of Japan an autograph letter from a nameless person, promising him, if Japan will cease the export of munitions to Russia, the aid of Germany in her impending campaign against America."

"An autograph letter, did you say?" Pamela almost gasped.

"An autograph letter," Lutchester repeated firmly. "Now don't you agree with me that Fischer's game is just a little too daring?"

"It is preposterous!" she cried.

"I have a theory," Lutchester continued, "that Fischer was never intended to use more than one of these letters. It was intended that he should study the situation here, approach one side, and, if unsuccessful, try the other. Fischer, however, conceived a more magnificent idea. He seems to be trying both at the same time. It is the sublime egotism of the Teutonic mind."

"It is monstrous!" Pamela exclaimed indignantly.

"It is almost as monstrous," Lutchester agreed, "as his daring to raise his eyes to you, although, so far as you are concerned, I believe that he is as honest as the man knows how to be."

"And why," she asked, "do you credit him with so much good faith?"

"Because," Lutchester replied, "if he had not been actuated by personal motives, he would never have sought you out as an intermediary. There are other sources open to him, by means of which he could make equally sure of reaching the President's ear. His idea was to impress you. It was foolish but natural."

Pamela was deep in thought. There was an angry spot of colour burning in her cheek.

"Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Lutchester," she persisted, "that this afternoon, say, when with every appearance of earnestness he was begging me to put these propositions before my uncle, he had really made precisely similar overtures to Japan?"

"I give you my word that this is the truth," Lutchester assured her solemnly.

She looked at him with something almost like wonder in her eyes.

"But you?" she exclaimed. "How do you know this? How can you be sure of it?"

"I have seen the autograph letter which Nikasti has in his possession," he announced.

"You mean that Mr. Fischer showed it to you?" she exclaimed incredulously.

Lutchester hesitated.

"There are methods," he said, "which those who fight in the dark places for their country are forced sometimes to make use of. I have seen the letter. I have half convinced those who represent Japan in this matter of Fischer's duplicity. With your help I am hoping wholly to do so."

Pamela leaned for a moment back in her chair.

"Really," she declared, "I am beginning to have the feeling that I am living almost too rapidly. Let us have a breathing spell. I wonder what all these other people are talking about."

"Probably," he suggested, with a little glance around, "about themselves. We will follow their example. Will you marry me, please, Miss Van Teyl?"

"We haven't even come to the ice yet," she sighed, "and you pass from high politics to flagrant personalities. Are you a sensationalist, Mr. Lutchester?"

"Not in the least," he protested. "I simply asked you an extremely important question quite calmly."

"It isn't a question that should be asked calmly," she objected.

"I have immense self-control," he told her, "but if you'd like me to abandon it—"

"For heaven's sake, no!" she interrupted. "Tell me more about Mr. Fischer."

"You won't forget to answer my little question later on, will you?" he begged. "To proceed, then. I spent some little time this afternoon with your chief of the police here, and I fancy that the person you speak of is becoming a little too blatant even for a broad-minded country like this. He belongs to an informal company of wealthy sympathisers with Germany, who propose to start a campaign of destruction at all the factories manufacturing munitions for the Allies. They have put aside—I believe it is several million dollars, for purposes of bribery. They don't seem to realise, as my friend pointed out to me this afternoon, that the days for this sort of thing in New York have passed. Some of them will be in prison before they know where they are."

"Exactly why did you come to America?" she asked, a little abruptly.

"To meet Nikasti and to look after Fischer."

"Well, you seem to have done that pretty effectually!"

"Also," he went on calmly, "to keep an eye upon you."

"Professionally?"

"You ask me to give away too many secrets," he whispered, leaning towards her.

She made a little grimace.

"Tell me some more about your little adventure in Fifth Avenue?" she begged.

He smiled grimly.

"You wouldn't believe me," he reminded her, "but it really was one of Fischer's little jokes. It very nearly came off, too. As a matter of fact," he went on, "Fischer isn't really clever. He is too obstinate, too convinced in his own mind that things must go the way he wants them to, that Fate is the servant of his will. It's a sort of national trait, you know, very much like the way we English bury our heads in the sand when we hear unpleasant truths. The last thing Fischer wants is advertisement, and yet he goes to some of his Fourteenth Street friends and unearths a popular desperado to get rid of me. The fellow happens most unexpectedly to fail, and now Fischer has to face a good many awkward questions and a good deal of notoriety. No, I don't think Fischer is really clever."

Pamela sighed.

"In that case, I suppose I shall have to say 'No' to him," she decided. "After waiting all this time, I couldn't bear to be married to a fool."

"You won't be," he assured her cheerfully.

"More British arrogance," she murmured. "Now see what's going to happen to us!"

A tall, elderly man, with smooth white hair plastered over his forehead, very precisely dressed, and with a gait so careful as to be almost mincing, was approaching their table. Pamela held out her hands.

"My dear uncle!" she exclaimed. "And I thought that you and aunt never dined at restaurants!"

Mr. Hastings stood with his fingers resting lightly upon the table. He glanced at Lutchester without apparent recognition.

"You remember Mr. Lutchester?" Pamela murmured.

Mr. Hastings' manner lacked the true American cordiality, but he hastened to extend his hand.

"Of course!" he declared. "I was not fortunate enough, however, to see much of you the other evening, Mr. Lutchester. We have several mutual friends whom I should be glad to hear about."

"I shall pay my respects to Mrs. Hastings, if I may, very shortly," Lutchester promised.

"Are you with friends here, uncle?" Pamela inquired.

"We are the guests of Mr. Oscar Fischer," the Senator announced.

Pamela raised her eyebrows.

"So you know Mr. Fischer, uncle?"

"Naturally," Mr. Hastings replied, with some dignity. "Oscar Fischer is one of the most important men in the State which I represent. He is a man of great wealth and industry and immense influence."

Pamela made a little grimace. Her uncle noticed it and frowned.

"He has just been telling us of his voyage with you, Pamela. Perhaps, if Mr. Lutchester can spare you," he went on, with a little bow across the table, "you will come and take your coffee with us. Your aunt is leaving for Washington, probably to-morrow, and wishes to arrange for you to travel with her. Mr. Lutchester may also, perhaps, give us the pleasure of his company for a few minutes," he added, after a slight but obvious pause.

"Thank you," Pamela answered quickly, "I am Mr. Lutchester's guest this evening. If you are still here, I shall love to come and speak to aunt for a moment later on. If not, I will ring up to-morrow morning."

The bland, almost episcopal serenity of Senator Hastings' face was somewhat disturbed. It was obvious that the situation displeased him.

"I think, Pamela," he said, "that you had better come and speak to your aunt before you leave."

His bow to Lutchester was the bow of a politician to an adversary. He made his way back in leisurely fashion to the table from which he had come, exchanging a few words with many acquaintances. Pamela watched him with a twinkle in her eyes.

"I am becoming so unpopular," she murmured. "I can read in my uncle's tone that my aunt and he disapprove of our dining together here. And as for Mr. Fischer. I'm afraid he'll break off our prospective alliance."

Lutchester smiled.

"Prospective is the only word to use," he observed. "By the bye, are you particularly fond of your uncle?"

"Not riotously," she admitted. "He has been kind to me once or twice, but he's rather a starchy old person."

"In that case," Lutchester decided, "we won't interfere."



CHAPTER XXX

Fischer had by no means the appearance of a discomfited man that evening, when some time later Pamela and Lutchester approached the little group of which he seemed, somehow, to have become the central figure. It was a small party, but, in its way, a distinguished one. Pamela's aunt was a member of an historic American family, and a woman of great social position, not only in New York but in Washington itself. Of the remaining guests, one was a financial magnate of world-wide fame, and the other, Senator Joyce, a politician of such eminence that his name was freely mentioned as a possible future president. Mrs. Hastings greeted Pamela and her escort without enthusiasm.

"My dear child," she exclaimed, "how extraordinary to find you here!"

"Is it?" Pamela observed indifferently. "You know Mr. Lutchester, don't you, aunt?"

Mrs. Hastings remembered her late dinner guest, but her recognition was icy and barely polite. She turned away at once and resumed her conversation with Fischer. Lutchester was not introduced to either of the other members of the party. He laid his hand on the back of an empty chair and turned it round for Pamela, but she stopped him with a word of thanks. Something had gone from her own naturally pleasant tone. She held her hand higher, even, than her aunt's, as she turned a little insistently towards her.

"So sorry, aunt," she announced, "but we are going now. Good night!"

Mrs. Hastings disapproved.

"We have seen nothing of you yet, Pamela," she said stiffly. "You had better stay with us and we will drop you on our way home."

Pamela shook her head.

"I am coming with you to-morrow, you know," she reminded her aunt. "To-night I am Mr. Lutchester's guest and he will see me home."

Mrs. Hastings drew her niece a little closer to her.

"Is this part of your European manners, Pamela?" she whispered, "that you dine alone in a restaurant with an acquaintance? Let me tell you frankly that I dislike the idea most heartily. My chaperonage is always at your service, and any girl of your age in America would be delighted to avail herself of it."

"It is very kind of you, aunt," Pamela replied, "but in a general way I finished with chaperons long ago."

"Where is Jimmy?" Mrs. Hastings inquired.

"He was coming with us to-night," Pamela explained, "but I asked him particularly to stay away. I have seen so little of Mr. Lutchester since he arrived, and I want to talk to him."

The financial magnate awoke from a comatose inertia and suddenly gripped Lutchester by the hand.

"Lutchester," he repeated to himself. "I thought I knew your face. Stayed with your uncle down at Monte Carlo once. You came there for a week."

Lutchester acknowledged his recollection of the fact and the two men exchanged a few commonplace remarks. Mrs. Hastings took the opportunity to try and induce Pamela to converse with Fischer.

"We have all been so interested to-night," she said, "in hearing what Mr. Fischer has to say about the situation on the other side."

Pamela was primed for combat.

"Has Mr. Fischer been telling you fairy tales?" she laughed.

"Fairy tales?" her aunt repeated severely. "I don't understand."

Fischer's steel grey eyes flashed behind his spectacles.

"I'm afraid that Miss Van Teyl's prejudices," he observed bitterly, "are very firmly fixed."

"Then she is no true American," Mrs. Hastings pronounced didactically.

"Oh, I can assure you that I am not prejudiced," Pamela declared, "only, you see, I, too, have just arrived from the other side, and I have been able to use my own eyes and judgment. If there is any prejudice in the matter, why should it not come from Mr. Fischer? He has the very good excuse of his German birth."

"Mr. Fischer is an American citizen," Mrs. Hastings reminded her niece, "and personally, I think that the American of German birth is one of the most loyal and long-suffering persons I know. I cannot say as much for the English people who are living over here. And as to fairy stories—"

Pamela intervened, turning towards Fischer with a little laugh.

"Oh, he can't even deny those! What about the great German victory in the North Sea, Mr. Fischer? Do you happen to have seen the latest telegrams?"

"Our first reports were perhaps a little too glowing," Mr. Fischer acknowledged. "That, under the circumstances, is, I think, only natural. But the facts remain that the invincible English and the untried German fleets have met, to the advantage of the German."

Pamela shook her head.

"I cannot even allow that," she objected. "The advantage, if there was any, rested on the other side. But I just want you to remember what we were told in that first wonderful outpouring of fabricated news—that the naval supremacy of England was gone for ever, that the freedom of the seas was assured, that German merchant vessels were steaming home from all directions! No, Mr. Fischer! Between ourselves, I think that your cause needs a few fairy stories, and I look upon you as one of the greatest experts in the world when it comes to concocting them."

Fischer, who had risen to his feet half way through Pamela's speech, was obviously a little taken aback by her direct attack. Mrs. Hastings took no pains to conceal her annoyance.

"For a young girl of your age, Pamela," she said sternly, "I consider that you express your opinions far too freely. Your attitude, too, is unjustifiable."

"Ah, well, you see, I am a little prejudiced against Mr. Fischer," Pamela laughed, turning towards him. "He happened to defeat one of my pet schemes."

"But I am ready to further your dearest one," he reminded her, dropping his voice, and leading her a little on one side. "What about our alliance?"

"You scarcely need my aid," she observed, with a shrug of the shoulders.

He remonstrated vigorously. There was a revived hopefulness in his tone. Perhaps, after all, here was the secret of her displeasure with him.

"You wonder, perhaps, to see me with your uncle. I give you my word that it is a dinner of courtesy only. I give you my word that I have not opened my lips on political matters. I have been waiting for your answer."

"I have lost faith in you," she told him calmly. "I am not even certain that you possess the authority you spoke of."

"If that is all," he replied eagerly, "you shall see it with your own eyes. You are staying with your uncle and aunt in Washington, are you not? I shall call upon you immediately I arrive, and bring it with me."

She nodded.

"Well, that remains a challenge, then, Mr. Fischer. And now, if you are quite ready," she added, turning to Lutchester.... "Good-by, everybody!"

"Aren't your ears burning?" Pamela asked, after Lutchester had handed her into a taxicab and taken his place by her side. "I can absolutely feel them talking about us."

"I seem to be most regrettably unpopular," Lutchester remarked.

"Even now I am puzzled about that," Pamela confessed, "but you see my aunt considers herself the arbitress of what is right or wrong in social matters, and she is exceedingly narrow-minded. In her eyes it is no doubt a greater misdemeanour for me to have dined at the Ritz-Carlton alone with you, than if I had conspired against the Government."

"And this, I thought, was the land of freedom for your sex!"

"Ah, but my aunt is rather an exception," Pamela reminded him. "The one thing I cannot understand, however, is that she should have allowed herself to be seen dining with Mr. Oscar Fischer at the Ritz-Carlton. I should have thought that would have been almost as heinous to her as my own little slip from grace."

"Is your aunt by way of being interested in politics?" Lutchester inquired.

"Not in a general way," Pamela replied, "but she is intensely ambitious, and she'd give her soul if Uncle Theodore could get a nomination for the Presidency."

"Perhaps she is taking up the German-American cause, then," Lutchester suggested. "It is a possible platform, at any rate."

"I foresee a new party," Pamela murmured thoughtfully. "Now I come to think of it, Mr. Elsworthy, the fat old gentleman who knew your uncle, is very pro-German."

He leaned towards her.

"We have had enough politics," he insisted. "There is the other thing. Couldn't I have my answer?"

She let him take her fingers. In the cool darkness through which they were rushing her face seemed white, her head was a little averted. He tried to draw her to him, but she was unyielding.

"Please not," she begged. "I like you—and I'm glad I like you," she added, "but I don't feel certain about anything. Couldn't we be just friends a little longer?"

"It must be as you say, but I am horribly in love with you," he confessed. "That may sound rather a bald way of saying so, but it's the truth, Pamela, dear."

His clasp upon her fingers was tightened. She turned towards him. Her expression was serious but delightful.

"Well, let me tell you this much, at least," she confided. "I have never before in my life been so glad to hear any one say so.... And here we are at home, and there's Jimmy on the doorstep. What is it, Jimmy," she asked, waving her hand.

He came down towards her in a state of great excitement.

"Say, we've had to open up the office again!" he exclaimed. "The telegrams are rolling in now. That so-called German naval victory was a fake. The Britishers came out right on top. You know you stand to net at least half a million, Mr. Lutchester? The worst of it is I have another client who's going to lose it."

Pamela shook her head at Lutchester.

"The possibility of increased responsibilities," he whispered. "A married man needs something to fall back upon."



CHAPTER XXXI

The offices of Messrs. Neville, Brooks, and Van Teyl were the scene of something like pandemonium. Van Teyl himself, bathed in perspiration, rushed into his room for the twentieth time. He almost flung the newspaper man who was waiting for him through the door.

"No, we don't know a darned thing," he declared. "We've no special information. The only reason we're up to our neck in Anglo-French is because we've two big clients dealing."

"It's just a few personal notes about those clients we'd like to handle."

"Oh, get out as quick as you can!" Van Teyl snapped. "This isn't a bucket shop or a pool room. The names of our clients concerns ourselves only."

"What do you think Anglo-French are going to do, Mr. Van Teyl?"

"I can't tell," was the prompt answer, "but I can tell what's going to happen if you don't clear out."

The newspaper man took a hurried leave. Van Teyl seized the telephone receiver, only to put it down with a little shout of relief as the door opened and Lutchester entered.

"Thank God!" he exclaimed. "Why, I've been ringing you up for an hour and a half."

"Sorry," Lutchester replied, "I was down at the barber's the first time you got through, and then I had some cables to send off."

"Look here," Van Teyl continued, gripping him by the shoulder, "is six hundred and forty thousand dollars, or thereabouts, profit enough for you on your Anglo-French?"

"It sounds adequate," Lutchester confessed, laying his hat and cane carefully upon the table and drawing up an easy-chair. "How much is Mr. Fischer going to lose?"

"God knows! If you allow me to sell at the present moment, you'll ease the market, and he'll lose about what you make."

"And if I decide to hold my Anglo-French?"

"You'll have to provide us with about a couple of million dollars," Van Teyl replied, "and I should think you would pretty well break Fischer for a time. Frankly, he's an important client, and we don't want him broken, even temporarily."

"What do you want me to do, then?"

"Give us authority to sell," Van Teyl begged. "Can't you hear them yapping about in the office outside? They're round me all the time like a pack of hounds. Honestly, if I don't sell some Anglo-French before lunch-time to-day, they look like wrecking the office."

Lutchester knocked the end of a cigarette thoughtfully against the side of his chair.

"All right," he decided, "I don't want you to suffer any inconvenience. Besides, I am going to Washington this afternoon. You can keep on selling as long as the market's steady. Directly it sags, hold off. If necessary, even buy a few more. You understand me? Don't sell a single block under to-day's price. Keep the market at that figure. It's an easy job, because next week Anglo-French will go up again."

Van Teyl was moved to a rare flash of admiration.

"You're a cool hand, Lutchester," he declared, "considering you're not a business man."

"Fischer's the man who'll need to keep cool," Lutchester remarked, lighting his cigarette. "What about a little lunch?"

The stockbroker scarcely heard him. He had struck a bell, and the office seemed suddenly filled with clerks. Van Teyl's words were incoherent—a string of strange directions, punctuated by slang which was, so far as Lutchester was concerned, unintelligible. The whole place seemed to wake into a clamour of telephone bells, shouts, the clanging and opening of the lift gates, and the hurried tramp of footsteps in the corridors outside. Lutchester rose to his feet. He was looking very comfortable and matter-of-fact in his grey tweed suit and soft felt hat.

"Perhaps," he observed pleasantly, "I am out of place here. Drop me a line and let me know how things are going to the Hotel Capitol at Washington."

"That's all right," Van Teyl promised. "I'll get you on the long-distance 'phone. I was coming myself with Pamela for a few days, but this little deal of yours has set things buzzing.... Say, who's that?"

The door opened, and Fischer paused upon the threshold. Certainly, of all the people concerned, the two speculators themselves seemed the least moved by the excitement they were causing. Fischer was dressed with his usual spick-and-span neatness, and his appearance betrayed no sign of flurry or excitement. He nodded grimly to Lutchester.

"My congratulations," he said. "You seem to have rigged the Press here to some purpose."

Lutchester raised his eyebrows.

"I don't even know a newspaper man in New York," he declared.

The newcomer gave vent to a little gesture of derision.

"Then you've some very clever friends! You'd better make the most of their offices. The German version of the naval battle will be confirmed and amplified within twenty-four hours, and then your Anglo-French will touch mud."

"If that is your idea," Lutchester remarked suavely, "why buy now? Why not wait till next week? Come," he went on, "I will have a little flutter with you, if you like, Fischer. I will bet you five thousand dollars, and Van Teyl here shall hold the stakes, that a week hence to-day Anglo-French stand higher than they do at this moment."

Fischer hesitated. Then he turned away.

"I am not a sportsman, Mr. Lutchester," he said.

Lutchester brushed away a little dust from his coat sleeve.

"No," he murmured, "I agree with you. Good morning!"

Lutchester walked out into the sun-baked streets, and with his absence Fischer abandoned his almost unnatural calm. He strode up and down the room, fuming with rage. At every fresh click of the tape machine, he snatched at the printed slip eagerly and threw it away with an oath. No one took any notice of him. Van Teyl rushed in and out, telephones clanged, perspiring clerks dashed in with copies of contracts to add to the small pile upon the desk. There came a quiet moment presently. Van Teyl wiped the perspiration from his forehead and drank a tumblerful of water.

"Fischer," he asked, "what made you go into this so big? You must have known there was always the risk of your wireless report beating it up a little too tall."

"It wasn't our report at all that I went by," Fischer confessed gloomily. "It was the English Admiralty announcement that did it. Can you conceive," he went on, striking the table with his fist, "any nation at war, with a grain of common sense or an ounce of self-respect, issuing a statement like that?—an apology for a defeat which, damn it all, never happened! Say the thing was a drawn battle, which is about what it really was. It didn't suit the Germans to fight it to a finish. They'd everything to lose and little to gain. So in effect they left the Britishers there and passed back behind their own minefield. So far as regards reports, that was victory enough for any one except those muddle-headed civilians at Whitehall. They deceived the world with that infernal bulletin, and incidentally me. It was on that statement I gave you my orders, not on ours."

"It's a damned unfortunate business!" Van Teyl sighed. "You're only half way out yet, and it's cost you nearly three hundred thousand."

A dull spot of purple colour burned in Fischer's cheeks. His upper lip was drawn in, his appearance for a moment was repulsive.

"It isn't the money I mind," he muttered. "It's Lutchester."

Van Teyl was discreetly silent. Fischer seemed to read his thoughts. He leaned across the table.

"A wonderful fellow, your friend Lutchester," he sneered. "An Admirable Crichton of finance and diplomacy and love-making, eh? But the end isn't just yet. I promise you one thing, James Van Teyl. He isn't going to marry your sister."

"I'd a damned sight sooner she married him than you!" Van Teyl blazed out.

Fischer was taken aback. He had held for so long the upper hand with this young man that for the moment he had forgotten that circumstances were changed between them. Van Teyl rose to his feet. The bonds of the last few months had snapped. He spoke like a free man.

"Look here, Fischer," he said, "you've had me practically in your power for the best part of a year, but now I'm through with you. I'm out of your debt, no thanks to you, and I'm going to keep out. I am working on your business as hard as though you were my own brother, and I'll go on doing it. I'll get you out of this mess as well as I can, and after that you can take your damned business where you please."

"So that's it, is it?" Fischer scoffed. "A rich brother-in-law coming along, eh? ... No, don't do that," stepping quickly backwards as Van Teyl's fist shot out.

"Then keep my sister's name out of this conversation," Van Teyl insisted. "If you are wise, you'll clear out altogether. They're at it again."

Fischer, however, glanced at the clock and remained. At the next lull, he hung down the tape and turned to his companion.

"Say, there's no use quarrelling, James," he declared. "I'm going to leave you to it now. Guess I said a little more than I meant to, but I tell you I hate that fellow Lutchester. I hate him just as though I were the typical German and he were the typical Britisher, and there was nothing but a sea of hate between us. Shake hands, Jim."

Van Teyl obeyed without enthusiasm. Fischer drew a chair to the table and wrote out a cheque, which he passed across.

"I'll drop into the bank and let them know about this," he said. "You can make up accounts and let me hear how the balance stands. I'll wipe it out by return, whatever it is."

Fischer passed out of the offices a few minutes later, followed by many curious eyes, and stepped into his automobile. A young man who had brushed against him pushed a note into his hand. Fischer opened it as his car swung slowly through the traffic:—

Guards at all Connecticut factories doubled. O'Hagan caught last night in precincts of small arms factory. Was taken alive, disobeying orders. Be careful.

Fischer tore the note into small pieces. His face was grimmer than ever as he leaned back amongst the cushions. There were evil things awaiting him outside Wall Street.



CHAPTER XXXII

Lutchester breathed the air of Washington and felt almost homesick. The stateliness of the city, its sedate and quiescent air after the turmoil of New York, impressed him profoundly. Everywhere its diplomatic associations made themselves felt. Congress was in session, and the faces of the men whom he met continually in the hotels and restaurants seemed to him some index of the world power which flung its far-reaching arms from beneath the Capitol dome.

One afternoon a few days after his arrival he called at the Hastings' house, a great Colonial mansion within a stone's throw of his own headquarters. The mention of his name, however, seemed to chill all the hospitality out of the smiling face of the southern butler who answered his ring. Miss Van Teyl was out, and from the man's manner it was obvious that Miss Van Teyl would continue to be out for a very long time. Lutchester retraced his steps to the British Embassy, where he had spent most of the morning, and made his way to the sitting-room of one of the secretaries. The Honourable Philip Downing, who was eagerly waiting for a cable recalling him to take up a promised commission, welcomed him heartily.

"Things are slack here to-day, old fellow. Let's go out to the Country Club and have a few sets of tennis or a game of golf, whichever you prefer," he suggested. "I've done my little lot till the evening."

"Show on to-night, isn't there?" Lutchester inquired.

"Just a reception. You're going to put in an appearance?"

"I fancy so. Have you got your list of guests handy?"

The young man dived into a drawer and produced a few typewritten sheets.

"Alphabetical list of acceptances, with here and there a few personal notes," he pointed out, with an air of self-satisfaction. "I go through this list with the chief while he's changing for dinner."

Lutchester ran his forefinger down the list.

"Senator Theodore and Mrs. Hastings," he quoted. "By the bye, they have a niece staying with them."

"Want a card for her?" the Honourable Philip inquired with a grin.

"I should like it sent off this moment," Lutchester replied.

The young man took a square, gilt-edged card from a drawer by his side, filled it out at Lutchester's dictation, rang the bell, and dispatched it by special messenger.

"I've got my little buzzer outside," he observed. "We'll make tracks for the club, if you're ready."

The two men played several sets of tennis and afterwards lounged in two wicker chairs, underneath a gigantic plane tree in a corner of the lawn. The place was crowded, and Philip Downing was an excellent showman.

"Washington," he explained, "has never been so divided into opposite camps, and this is almost the only common meeting ground. Every one has to come here, of course. The German Staff play tennis and the Austrians all go in for polo. Here comes Ziduski. He's most fearfully popular with the ladies here—does us a lot of harm, they say. He's a great sticker for etiquette. He used to nod and call me Phil. Now you watch. He'll bow from his waist, as though he had corsets on. As a matter of fact, he's a good sportsman."

Count Ziduski's bow was stiff enough but his intention was obvious. He stopped before the two men, exchanged a somewhat stilted greeting with Philip Downing, and turned to Lutchester.

"I believe," he said, "that I have the honour of addressing Mr. Lutchester?"

Lutchester rose to his feet.

"That is my name," he admitted.

"We have met in Rome, I think, and in Paris," the Count reminded him. "If I might beg for the favour of a few moments' conversation with you."

The two men strolled away together. The Count plunged at once into the middle of things.

"It is you, sir, I believe, whom I have to thank for the abrupt departure of Mademoiselle Sonia from New York?"

"Quite true," Lutchester admitted.

"Under different circumstances," the Count proceeded, "I might regard such interference in my affairs in a different manner. Here, of course, that is impossible. I speak to you out of regard for the lady in question. You appear in some mysterious manner to have discovered the fact that she was in the habit of bringing entirely unimportant and non-political messages from dear friends in France."

"Mademoiselle Sonia," Lutchester said calmly, "had for a brief space of time forgotten herself. She was engaged in carrying out espionage work on your behalf. I believe I may say that she will do so no more."

The Count was a man of medium height, thin, with complexion absolutely colourless, and deep-set, tired eyes. At this moment, however, he seemed endowed with the spirit of a new virility. The cane which he grasped might have been a dagger. His smooth tones nursed a threat.

"Mr. Lutchester," he declared, "if harm should come to her through your information, I swear to God that you shall pay!"

Lutchester's manner was mild and unprovocative.

"Count," he replied, "we make no war upon women. Sonia has repented, and the knowledge which I have of her misdeeds will be shared by no one. She has gone back to her country to work for the Red Cross there. So far as I am concerned, that is the end."

The two men walked a few steps further in unbroken silence. Then the Count raised his hat.

"Mr. Lutchester," he said, "yours is the reply of an honourable enemy. I might have trusted you, but Sonia is half of my life. I offer you my thanks."

He strolled away, and Lutchester rejoined his young friend.

"The lion and the lamb seem to have parted safely!" the latter exclaimed. "Now sit by my side and I will show you interesting things. Those four irreproachable young men over there in tennis flannels are all from the German Embassy. The two elder ones behind are Austrians. All those women are the wives of Senators who sympathise with Germany. Their husbands look like it, don't they? To-day they have an addition to their ranks—the thin, elderly man there, whose clothes were evidently made in London. That's Senator Hastings. He is a personal friend of the President. Jove, what a beautiful girl with Mrs. Hastings!"

"That," Lutchester told him, "is the young lady to whom you have just sent a card of invitation for to-night."

"Then here's hoping that she comes," Philip Downing observed, finishing his glass of mint julep. "Is she a pal of yours?"

"Yes, I know her," Lutchester admitted.

"Let's go and butt in, then," Downing suggested. "I love breaking up these little gatherings. You'll see them all stiffen when we come near. I hope they haven't got hold of Hastings, though."

The two men rose to their feet and crossed the lawn. Fischer, who had suddenly appeared in the background, whispered something in Mrs. Hastings' ear. She swung around to Pamela, a second too late. Pamela, with a word of excuse to the young man with whom she was talking, stepped away from the circle and held out her hand to Lutchester.

"So you have really come to Washington!" she exclaimed.

"As a rescuer," Lutchester replied. "I feel that I have a mission. We cannot afford to lose your sympathies. May I introduce Philip Downing?"

Pamela shook hands with the young man and took her place between them.

"I've been envying you your seat under the tree," she said. "Couldn't we go there for a few moments?"

Mrs. Hastings detached herself and approached them. She received Philip Downing's bow cordially, and she was almost civil to Lutchester.

"I can't have my niece taken away," she protested. "We are just going in to tea, Pamela."

Pamela shook her head.

"I am going to sit under that tree with Mr. Lutchester and Mr. Downing," she declared. "Tea doesn't attract me in the least, and that tree does."

Mrs. Hastings accepted defeat with a somewhat cynical gracefulness. She closed her lorgnette with a little snap.

"You leave us all desolated, my dear Pamela," she said. "You remind me of what your poor dear father used to say—'Almost any one could live with Pamela if she always had her own way.'"

Pamela laughed as she strolled across the lawn.

"Aren't one's relatives trying!" she murmured.



CHAPTER XXXIII

Philip Downing very soon justified the profession to which he belonged by strolling off with some excuse about paying his respects to some acquaintances. Pamela and Lutchester immediately dropped the somewhat frivolous tone of their conversation.

"You know that things are moving with our friend Fischer?" she began.

"I gathered so," Lutchester assented.

"His scheme is growing into shape," she went on. "You know what wonderful people his friends are for organising. Well, they are going to start a society all through the States and nominate for its president—Uncle Theodore."

"Will they have any show at all?" Lutchester asked curiously.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Who can tell? The German-Americans are very powerful indeed all through the West, and then the pacifists will join them. You see, I believe that although the soul of the country is with the Allies, England is the most tactless country in the world. She is always giving little pinpricks to the Government over here, either about maritime law or one thing or another. Then all those articles in the papers about America being too proud to fight, the sneering tone of some, even, of the leading reviews, did a lot of harm. Uncle Theodore is going to stand for what they call the true neutrality. That is to say, no munitions, no help for either side."

"Well, I don't know anything about American politics," Lutchester confessed, "but I shouldn't think he'd have an earthly chance."

"Money is immensely powerful," she went on reflectively, "and many of the great money interests of the country are controlled by German-Americans. Mr. Fischer has almost thrown me over politically, but Uncle Theodore is crazy about the idea of a German pledge to protect America against Japan. That is going to be the great argument which he will keep up his sleeve until after the nomination."

"Fischer's trump card," Lutchester observed. "He hasn't shown you a certain autograph letter yet, I suppose?"

She shook her head.

"He may have shown it to Uncle Theodore. I'm afraid he doesn't mean to approach me again. He seems to have completely changed his attitude towards me since the night he saw us at the Ritz-Carlton dining together. He was going to show me the letter the first day after his arrival in Washington. Instead of that, he has been in the house for hours at a time without making the slightest attempt to see me."

"Faithless fellow!" Lutchester murmured. "Nothing like an Englishman, after all, for absolute fidelity."

"Do you really think so?" Pamela inquired anxiously. "Do you think I should be safe in trusting my heart and future to an Englishman?"

"To one particular Englishman, yes!" was the firm reply. "I was rather hoping you might have made up your mind."

"Too many things to think about," she laughed. "How long are you going to stay in Washington?"

"A few hours or days or weeks—until I have finished the work that brought me here."

"And what exactly is that?"

"You ask me lightly," he replied, "but, if you are willing, I have decided to take you into my confidence. Our friend Nikasti will be here to-morrow. He was to have sailed for Japan yesterday, but he has postponed his voyage for a few days. Do you know much about the Japanese, Miss Pamela?"

"Very little," she acknowledged.

"Well, I will tell you one thing. They are not very good at forgiving. There was only one way I could deal with Nikasti in New York, and it was a brutal way. I have seen him twice since. He wouldn't look me in the eyes. I know what that means. He hates me. In a sense I don't believe he would allow that to interfere in any way with his mission. In another sense it would. The Allies, above all things, have need of Japan. We want Japan and America to be friends. We don't want Germany butting in between the two. Baron Yung is a very clever man, but he is even more impenetrable than his countrymen generally are. Our people here admit that they find it difficult to progress with him very far. They believe that secretly he is in sympathy with Nikasti's reports— but you don't know about those, I suppose?"

"I don't think I do," she admitted.

"Nikasti was sent to England some years ago to report upon us as a country. Japan at that time was meditating an alliance with one of the great European Powers. Obviously it must be Germany or England. Nikasti travelled all through England, studied our social life, measured our weaknesses; did the same through Germany, returned to Japan, and gave his vote in favour of Germany. I have even seen a copy of his report. He laid great stress upon the absolute devotion to sport of our young men, and the entire absence of any patriotic sentiment or any means of national defence. Well, as you know, for various reasons his counsels were over-ridden, and Japan chose the British alliance. That was entirely the fault of imperfect German diplomacy. At a time like this, though, I cannot help thinking that some elements of his former distrust still remain in Nikasti's mind, and I have an idea that Baron Yung is, to a certain extent, a sympathiser. I've got to get at the bottom of this before I leave the States. If I need your help, will you give it me?"

"If I can," she promised.

They saw Mrs. Hastings' figure on the terrace, waving, and Pamela rose reluctantly to her feet.

"I don't suppose," Lutchester continued, as they strolled across the lawn, "that you have very much influence with your uncle, or that he would listen very much to anything that you have to say, but if he is really in earnest about this thing, he is going to play a terribly dangerous game. As things are at present, he has a very pleasant and responsible position as the supporter and friend of very able men. With regard to this new movement, he may find the whole ground crumble away beneath his feet. Fischer is playing the game of a madman. It isn't only political defeat that might come to him, but disgrace—even dishonour."

"You frighten me," Pamela confessed gravely.

Lutchester sighed.

"Your uncle," he went on, "is one of those thoroughly conceited, egotistical men who will probably listen to no one. You see, I have found out a little about him already. But they tell me that her social position means a great deal to your aunt. Neither her birth nor her friends could save her if Fischer drags your uncle to his chariot wheels."

"Do you think, perhaps, that you underestimate Mr. Fischer's position over here?" she asked thoughtfully.

"I don't think I do," he replied, "but here is something which you have scarcely appreciated. Fischer has had the effrontery to link himself up with a little crowd of Germans all through the States, who are making organised attempts to destroy the factories where ammunitions are being made for the Allies. That sort of thing, you know, would bring any one, however, distantly connected with it, to Sing Sing.... One moment," he added quickly, as Mrs. Hastings stepped forward to meet them; "the reception at the British Embassy to-night?"

"The others are going," she said. "My aunt didn't feel she was sufficiently—"

"We sent you a card round especially this afternoon," Lutchester interrupted. "You'll come?"

"How nice of you! Of course I will," she promised.



CHAPTER XXXIV

"Small affair, this," Downing observed, as he piloted Lutchester through the stately reception rooms of the Embassy. "You see, we are all living a sort of touchy life here, nowadays. We try to be civil to any of the German or Austrian lot when we meet, but of course they don't come to our functions. And every now and then some of those plaguey neutrals get the needle and they don't come, so we never know quite where we are, Guadopolis has been avoiding us lately, and I hear he was seen out at the Lakewood Country Club with Count Reszka, the Rumanian Minister, a few days ago. Gave the Chief quite a little flurry, that did."

"There's an idea over in London," Lutchester remarked, "that a good deal of the war is being shaped in Washington nowadays."

"That is the Chief's notion," Downing assented. "I know he's pining to talk to you, so we'll go and do the dutiful."

Lutchester was welcomed as an old friend by both the Ambassador and his wife. The former drew him to a divan from which he could watch the entrance to the rooms, and sat by his side.

"I am glad they sent you out, Lutchester," he said earnestly. "If ever a country needed watching by a man with intelligence and experience, this one does to-day."

"Do you happen to know that fellow Oscar Fischer?" Lutchester asked.

"I do, and I consider him one of the most dangerous people in the States for us," the Ambassador declared. "He has a great following, huge wealth, and, although he is not a man of culture, he doesn't go about his job in that bull-headed way that most of them do."

"He's trying things on with Japan," Lutchester observed. "I think I shall manage to checkmate him there all right. But there's another scheme afloat that I don't follow so closely. You know Senator Hastings, I suppose?"

The Ambassador nodded.

"Senator Theodore Hastings," he repeated thoughtfully. "Yes, he's rather a dark horse. He is supposed to be the President's bosom friend, but I hear whispers that he'd give his soul for a nomination, adopt any cause or fight any one's battle."

"That's my own idea of him," Lutchester replied, "and I think you will find him in the field with a pretty definite platform before long."

"You think he's mixed up with Fischer?" the Ambassador inquired.

"I'm sure he is," Lutchester assented. "Not only that, but they have something up their sleeve. I think I can guess what it is, but I'm not sure. How have things seemed to you here lately?"

"To tell you the truth, I haven't liked the look of them," the Ambassador confided. "There's something afoot, and I can't be sure what it is. Look at the crowd to-night. Of course, all the Americans are here, but the diplomatic attendance has never been so thin. The Rumanian Minister and his wife, the Italian, the Spanish, and the Swedish representatives are all absent. I have just heard, too, that Baron von Schwerin is giving a dinner-party."

Lutchester looked thoughtfully at the little stream of people. The Ambassador left him for a few moments to welcome some late comers. He returned presently and resumed his seat by Lutchester's side.

"Of course," he continued, lowering his voice, "all formal communications between us and the enemy Embassies have ceased, but it has come to be an understood thing, to avoid embarrassments to our mutual friends, that we do not hold functions on the same day. I heard that Von Schwerin was giving this dinner-party, so I sent round this morning to inquire. The reply was that it was entirely a private one. One of our youngsters brought us in a list of the guests a short time ago. I see Hastings is one of them, and Fischer, and Rumania and Greece will be represented. Now Hastings was to have been here, and as a rule the neutrals are very punctilious."

"I suppose the way that naval affair was represented didn't do us any good," Lutchester observed.

"It did us harm, without a doubt," was the lugubrious admission. "Still, fortunately, these people over here are clever enough to understand our idiosyncrasies. I honestly think we'd rather whine about a defeat than glory in a victory."

"Diplomatically, too," Lutchester remarked thoughtfully, "I should have said that things seemed all right here. The President comes in for a great deal of abuse in some countries. Personally, I think he has been wonderful."

The Ambassador nodded.

"You and I both know, Lutchester," he said, "that the last thing we want is to find America dragged into this war. Such a happening would be nothing more nor less than a catastrophe in itself, to say nothing of the internal dissensions here. On the other hand, as things are now, Washington is becoming a perfect arena for diplomatic chicanery, and I have just an instinct—I can't define it in any way—which leads me to believe that some fresh trouble has started within the last twenty-four hours."

Lady Ridlingshawe motioned to her husband with her fan, and he rose at once to his feet.

"I must leave you to look after yourself for a time, Lutchester," he concluded. "You'll find plenty of people here you know. Don't go until you've seen me again."

Lutchester wandered off in search of Pamela. He found her with Mrs. Hastings, surrounded by a little crowd of acquaintances. Pamela waved her fan, and they made way for him.

"Mr. Lutchester, I have been looking everywhere for you!" she exclaimed. "What a secretive person you are! Why couldn't you tell me that Lady Ridlingshawe was your cousin? I want you to take me to her, please, I met her sister out in Nice."

She laid her fingers upon his arm, and they passed out of the little circle.

"All bluff, of course," she murmured. "Find the quietest place you can. I want to talk to you."

They wandered out on to a balcony where some of the younger people were taking ices. She leaned over the wooden rail.

"Listen," she said, "I adore this atmosphere, and I am perfectly certain there is something going on—something exciting, I mean. You know that the Baron von Schwerin has a dinner-party?"

"I know that," he assented.

"Uncle Theodore is going with Mr. Fischer. He was invited at the last moment, and I understand that his presence was specially requested."

Lutchester stood for a short time in an absorbed and sombre silence. In the deep blue twilight his face seemed to have fallen into sterner lines. Without a doubt he was disturbed. Pamela looked at him anxiously.

"Is anything the matter?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Nothing definite, only for the last few hours I have felt that things here are reaching a crisis. There is something going on around us, something which seems to fill Fischer and his friends with confidence, something which I don't quite understand, and which it is my business to understand. That is really what is worrying me."

She nodded sympathetically and glanced around for a moment.

"Let me tell you something," she whispered. "This evening my uncle came into my room just before dinner. There is a little safe built in the wall for jewellery. He begged for the loan of it. His library safe, he said, was out of order. I couldn't see what he put in, but when he had closed the door he stood looking at it for a moment curiously. I made some jesting remark about its being a treasure chest, but he answered me seriously. 'You are going to sleep to-night, Pamela,' he said, 'within a few yards of a dozen or so of written words which will change the world's history.'"

Lutchester was listening intently. There was a prolonged pause.

"Well?" he asked, at last.

She glanced at the little Yale key which hung from her bracelet.

"Nothing! I was just wondering how I should be able to sleep through the night without opening the safe."

"But surely your uncle didn't give you the key!"

She shook her head.

"I don't suppose he knows I have such a thing," she replied. "He has a master-key himself to all the safes, which he used. This is one the housekeeper gave me as soon as I arrived."

Lutchester looked out into the darkness.

"Tell me," he inquired, "is that your house—the next one to this?"

"That's the old Hastings' house," she assented. "They are all family mansions along here."

"It looks an easy place to burgle," he remarked.

She laughed quietly.

"I should think it would be," she admitted. "There are any quantity of downstair windows. We don't have burglaries in Washington, though —certainly not this side of the city."

A little bevy of young people had found their way into the gardens. Lutchester waited until they had passed out of earshot before he spoke again.

"I have reason to believe," he continued, "that in the course of their negotiations Fischer has deposited with your uncle a certain autograph letter, of which we have already spoken, making definite proposals to America if she will change her attitude on the neutrality question."

"The written words," Pamela murmured.

Lutchester's hand suddenly closed upon her wrist. She was surprised to find his fingers so cold, yet marvellously tenacious.

"You are going to lose that key and I am going to find it," he said, quietly. "I am sorry—but you must."

"I am going to do nothing of the sort," Pamela objected.

His fingers remained like a cold vice upon her wrist. She made no effort to draw it away.

"Listen," he said; "do you believe that the Hastings-cum-Fischer party is going to be the best thing that could happen for America?"