“It likely will be—one way or the other,” she returned drily. “However, if we are careful, a prayer more or less won’t effect much damage. It’s really up to the—man in the case. If he can get away with it, we can manage the rest.”
“And if he can’t?”
“Then there will be nothing on us, unless the Clephane letter is translated and implicates me by name—or Paris resorts to cable. If it were not for France’s meddling, it would be ridiculously simple so far as we are concerned; everything would be up to the man.”
“And you do not know who the man is, nor what he is about to betray?” Marston asked.
“I do not—nor am I in the least inquisitive, despite the fact that I’m a woman. I haven’t even so much as tried to guess. I was ordered here under express instructions; which are to meet someone who will communicate with me by letter in which a certain phrase will occur. Thereafter I am to be guided by him and the circumstances until I receive from him a certain package, when I am instantly to depart the country and hurry straight to Berlin. Whether I am to receive a copy of a secret treaty between our friends or our enemies, a diplomatic secret of high importance, a report on the fortifications or forces of another nation, or what it is, I haven’t the slightest idea. It’s all in the game—and the game fascinates me; its dangers and its uncertainty. Some other nation wants what Germany is about to get; some other nation seeks to prevent its betrayal; some other nation seeks to block us; someone else would even murder us to gain a point—and our own employer would not raise a hand to seek retribution, or even to acknowledge that we had died in her cause. They laud the soldier who dies for his flag, but he who dies in the secret service of a government is never heard of. He disappears; for the peace or the reputation of nations his name is not upon the public rolls of the good and faithful servants. It’s risky, Marston; it’s thankless; it’s without glory and without fame; nevertheless it’s a fascinating game; the stakes are incalculable, the remuneration is the best.”
“You’re quite right as to those high up in the service,” Marston remarked, “the remuneration, I mean, but not as to us poor devils who are only the pawns. We not only have no glory nor honour, but considering the danger and what we do we are mightily ill paid, my lady, mightily ill paid. The fascination and danger of the game, as you say, is what holds us. At any rate, it’s what holds me—and the pleasure of working sometimes with you, and what that means.”
“And we always win when together because we are in accord,” she smiled, holding out her hand to him. “Team work, my good friend, team work!”
He took the hand, and bending over raised it to his lips with an air of fine courtesy and absolute devotion.
“And we shall win this time, Marston,” she went on, “we shall sail for Europe before the week is ended—I’m sure of it.”
“I shall be satisfied if we never sail—or sail always,” he returned, and slowly released her fingers and stepped back.