“Then why is he showing such interest now in a matter which he deliberately closed at luncheon?”
“I gave you his explanation. Even Baumgartner likes to associate with people of good character.”
“No, that is not the reason. Mr. Baumgartner is engaged at this moment in a plot against British dominion in West Africa. You see that cruiser in the harbor? Well, she is here to watch the Sans Souci. You yourself heard to–day that our party is going to Europe by the mail steamer. Why, when the Sans Souci is at our disposal? I will tell you. The British authorities believe that the yacht will help, or further in some way, a native rising in Southern Nigeria. Now, the letter in my possession, read by any one who could extract its inner meaning, would yield a valuable clue to the amount of information at the disposal of the home government. If you, without knowing this, answered Mr. Baumgartner’s questions as to its contents, you would be doing the gravest injury to Great Britain.”
“By gad!” exclaimed Fairholme.
“You can easily assure yourself that I am not exaggerating the facts. Here is the letter. Read it, and remember what I have told you.”
Fairholme pursed his lips and bent his brows in deep mental effort. He held the letter in his hand unopened during this unusual and seemingly painful process. Then he gave it back to Evelyn.
“No, Miss Dane,” he said emphatically. “I’m far too candid an ass to be laden with state secrets. Now, if you wouldn’t mind just pickin’ out the bits that refer to Mrs. Laing, an’ skippin’ all the political part, I’ll be able to bounce old Baumgartner for all he’s worth.”
“But I cannot. It is the political part which proves that my letter was stolen.”
“Same thing! Change the names. Turn West Africa into Newmarket, an’ call the Emperor Lord Rosebery.”
“The Emperor,” said Evelyn, surprised at Fairholme’s chance shot.