“Nothing, nothing at all,” said Edith.
“At your own suggestion, Miss Varney,” persisted the Secret Service Agent vehemently, “I agreed to accept a plan by which we could criminate this friend of yours or establish his innocence. When everything is ready you propose to withdraw and make the experiment a failure, perhaps allowing him to escape altogether and being a party to treason against your own country.”
Edith looked from Arrelsford’s set face, with his bitter words, the truth of which she was too just not to acknowledge, ringing in her ears, to the face of her mother. It was a sweet face, full of sympathy and love, but it was set in the same way as the man’s. The patriotism of the woman was aroused. The kind of help that Edith wanted in her mother’s look she did not find there.
“You mustn’t do this, Edith; you must do your part,” said Mrs. Varney.
The resolution of the girl gave way.
“He is there,” she faltered piteously, “he is there at the further end of the veranda. What more do you want of me?” Her voice rose in spite of her efforts to control herself.
“Call him to the room, and do it naturally. If any one else should do it he would suspect something immediately and be on his guard.”
“Very well,” said the girl helplessly. “I will call him.”
She turned toward the window.
“Wait,” said Arrelsford, “one thing more. I want him to have this paper.” He handed Edith the communication which had been taken from Jonas earlier in the evening.