Their appetites appeased, Frank bethought himself of Hetherington’s promise to tell him his story, and reminded him of it.
Hetherington hesitated a moment, and then said:
“I don’t know as there is any reason I shouldn’t tell you, particularly as I undoubtedly owe my life to you both. In the first place, I am what is known as a secret agent of the British government.”
“A what?” demanded Jack.
“A secret agent; in other words, a diplomatic agent, though I am not officially recognized as such. Which means, that in the event of anything happening to me, England could not be held responsible for my actions, nor could I look to my government for aid.”
“I see what you mean,” said Frank, and Jack nodded his head in assent.
“You mean that what you do, although under instructions, you do at your own risk?” he questioned.
“Yes. For instance, if, in some diplomatic undertaking, I should be apprehended upon the order of a foreign government, say as a spy, or for some overt political act, my government would not countenance my action, even though I am acting under direct orders.”
“It must be dangerous work,” declared Frank.
“You take your life in your hands every time you are sent upon a mission,” said Jack.