“Just what we are about to see, wise one!” she mocked. “Now, your Excellency, will you place the envelope in the candle’s flame?”
The Secretary took the envelope by the tip of one corner and held it in the blaze until it was burned to his fingers—no writing was disclosed.
“Now the letter, please?” she directed. And when Carpenter would have protested, she cut him short with a peremptory gesture. “Don’t interrupt, sir!” she exclaimed.
And Carpenter laughed softly and did nothing more—being, with Harleston, in enjoyment of their chief’s discomfiture.
“The letter—see—your Excellency,” she repeated with a bewildering smile.
And as the flame crept down the thin sheet, just ahead of it, apparent to them all, crept also the writing, brought out by the heat. In a moment it was over; the last bit of the corner burning in a brass tray where the Secretary had dropped it.
“Now, Mr. Harleston,” said Madeline Spencer, lowering her revolver as the final flicker of the flame expired, “I am ready to submit to a search.”
Harleston glanced inquiringly at the Secretary.
“The lady is with you,” the Secretary remarked with a sigh of relief.
“Very well, sir,” said Harleston. “Ranleigh has a skilled woman in the waiting-room, she will officiate in the matter. We’re not likely to find anything, but it’s to provide against the chance.”—And turning to Madeline Spencer: “Whatever the outcome, madame, you will leave Washington tonight and sail from New York on the morrow; and I should advise you to remain abroad so long as you are in the Diplomatic Service.”