“Oh! * * * How do you know I have any special instructions for you?”
“The department tipped it off by cable! Let’s have ’em.”
But Topham shook his head. “Hold on a minute!” he exclaimed. “I should like to understand this game, if you are at liberty to explain. Why in thunder is the Secretary of State sending you instructions by a navy officer instead of by the regular channels, and why is he sending you any instructions at all that he conceals from the ambassador?”
Rutile threw himself back in the chair. “Search me!” he replied cheerfully. “‘These are the Lord’s doings; they are wonderful in our sight!’ If I had to guess, though, I should say that the instructions you bring treat of a secret service matter which has nothing to do with ambassadorial duties—yet.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course not. But it’s like this! Ambassadors are usually highly polished, highly educated, highly ornate somebodies who have the money and the wish to put up a fine front. Their principal duties are to cultivate people, give dinners, and generally jolly things along. Besides, they come and go, and can’t be expected to know all the ins and outs of the game. We secretaries are more permanent, and we are expected to know it all—and to plan it. If we make a slip, the ambassador disavows us, and we are recalled. We are denounced as presumptuous underlings who have acted without authority—not worth quarreling over. Do you understand now?”
Topham nodded. “Yes! I begin to understand,” he said.
“All right! Now let’s have the papers.”
But Topham shook his head. “I haven’t any papers for you, Rutile!” he said soberly. “I did have, but—I haven’t now!”
Rutile stared at him. “Good Lord! Man! You haven’t lost them, have you?” he cried.