"Jasper," she said earnestly, "you must get me back the manuscript."
"How is it to be done, my dear? From all accounts our friend Peter is as elusive as his ancestor, the Scarlet Pimpernel. He has ten minutes' advance of us already . . . a car probably waiting for him in the village. Are you quite sure you can't hear the whirring of a motor now?"
"You could try, at any rate." And now there was a distinct note of pleading in her voice. "General Naniescu——"
"Make yourself no illusion in that quarter, my dear," he broke in quickly. "Once Naniescu is in possession of those precious articles of yours he will send a courier flying across Europe with them. Remember that with the MSS. there was your covering letter to the editor of the Times, asking for immediate publication. Let me see," he went on slowly, "this is Saturday. I believe we shall see the first of those wonderful articles in print in the Times on Wednesday."
"I don't care how it's done," she replied impatiently. "If you won't help me I'll manage alone."
"What can you do, my dear?"
"Telegraph to the Times, for one thing, and start for London this evening."
"Plucky!" he remarked dryly; "but I doubt if you'll succeed."
"Will you put obstacles in my way?"
"I? Certainly not. But Naniescu will." Then, as without attempting further argument she turned to go, he added blandly: "And Peter."