“And being always,” he added, bowing low, “your most humble and loving servant.”
“I know it—and I am very, very grateful.” She put aside the tray and languidly stretched her lithe length under the sheet. “What have you to report, Marston?” she asked.
“I have to report, madame,” said Marston, with strict formality of a subordinate to his chief, “that I have procured the French code-book.”
“Good work!” she exclaimed, sitting up sharply. “However did you manage it?”
“By the assistance of one Jimmy-the-Snake. He visited the French Embassy last night, and persuaded the safe to yield up the code. It would have been better, I admit, to copy the code and then replace it, but it wasn’t possible. He had just sufficient time to grab the book and make a get-away. Someone was coming.”
“You’ve accomplished enough even though we don’t obtain the letter” she approved. “I shall recommend you for promotion, Marston.”
She took the thin book and glanced through it until she came to the key-words of the Blocked-Out Square—the last key-word was the one the Count de M—— had given her. After all, the Count was not so bad; and he was handsome; thus far dependable; and he was, seemingly at least, in love with her. She might do worse.... Yet he was not Harleston; there never was but one equal to Harleston, and that one was lost to her. She shut her lips tightly and a far-away look came into her eyes. And now Harleston, too, was lost to her; and—she lifted her hands resignedly, and laughed a mirthless laugh. As she came back to reality, she met Marston’s curiously courteous glance with a bit of a shrug.
“Pardon my momentary abstraction,” she said softly; “I was pursuing a train of thought—”
“And you didn’t overtake it,” he remarked.
“I can never overtake it. I haven’t the requisite speed. Did you ever miss your two greatest opportunities, Marston?”