“Train your gun on Mr. Harleston and test him,” the Secretary suggested, attempting to be facetious and failing.
Mrs. Spencer might be, probably was, bluffing but he did not propose to be the one to call it; the result was quite too uncertain. He had never looked into the muzzle of a revolver, and he found the experience distinctly unpleasant—she held the barrel so steady and pointed straight at his heart. Diplomatic secrets were wanted of course, but they were not to be purchased by the life of the Secretary of State, nor even by an uncertain chance at it.
“Mr. Harleston’s life isn’t sufficiently valuable to the nation,” she replied, “I prefer to shoot you, if necessary—though I trust it won’t be necessary. What’s a mere scrap of paper, without value save as a means to detect its author, compared to the life of the greatest American diplomat? Moreover, the letter would yield you nothing as to its meaning nor its author. The meaning you already know, since you have found the key-word to the cipher; so only the author remains; and as it is typewritten you will have small, very small, prospect from it.” She had read the Secretary aright—and now she asked: “Am I not correct, your Excellency?”
“I think you are,” the Secretary replied, “We all are obligated and quite ready to give our lives for our country, if the sacrifice will benefit it in the very least; yet I can’t see the obligation in this instance, can you Harleston?”
“None in the least, sir, provided your life were at issue,” Harleston answered. “For my part, I think it isn’t even seriously threatened. If Mrs. Spencer will shift her aim to me, I’ll take a chance.”
Mrs. Clephane gave a suppressed exclamation and an involuntary motion of protest—and Mrs. Spencer saw her.
“Mrs. Clephane seems to be concerned lest I accept!” she jeered.
Mrs. Clephane blushed ravishingly, and Harleston caught her in the act; whereupon she blushed still more, and turned away.
“Play acting!” mocked Madeline Spencer—then, shrugging the matter aside, she turned to the Secretary. “Since we two are of one mind in the affair before us, your Excellency,” she observed, “I fancy I may take it as settled. Nevertheless you will pardon me if I don’t depress my aim until we have attended to a little matter; it will occupy us but a moment,” making a step nearer the desk and away from the others, yet still holding them in her eye.
“What is it you wish, madame?” the Secretary inquired a trifle huskily; his throat was becoming somewhat parched by the anxiety of the situation.