"Don't deliver that!" she begged. "Please—don't deliver it yet."
"Don't deliver a telegram?" the agent glared at her uncomprehendingly. "What's the matter with you? Want me to lose my job?"
"But if that telegram meant trouble—if it meant danger for our country?"
"It's a telegram and it's got to be delivered," he answered stubbornly.
Dixie's hand reached for her Secret Service Commission, then dropped. She had seen the station agent with Von Lertz and Dollings on various occasions. If he were an accomplice—which was very likely—her commission would profit her nothing and probably would work harm to her cause. She turned with an effort and laughed.
"I was just fooling," she apologized.
"Poor way to fool," grumbled the station agent, and slammed the door.
Dixie watched him shuffle across the dusty road and intercept Von Lertz and Madam Stephan as they left the hotel. She saw a hurried conference over the yellow slip of paper follow. As she watched them the telegraph instrument began to clatter once more. The station agent was across the street. This time she would not be thwarted.
"O.K. Ex," she signalled rapidly, and the answer came through.
"Randolph Bruce,
"Exeter—(delayed).
"Arriving 6:40
"Grant."