It was of the utmost importance to trace her, but what could be done? It was obvious that detectives should not be employed, for a hint of official interference might mean the death of Lukos. Beatrice and Lionel must do their own detection, and they spent their brains on the problem, apparently so hopeless.
Even the cause of Mizzi's disloyalty was anything but clear. It might be that she was in the pay of the sultan, or it might be that she wished to be revenged. But why revenge? Beatrice, with a twinkle that made Lionel feel qualms of conscience, suggested jealousy; but the suggestion was thrown out in such an airy spirit that he felt she did not really believe in it. He himself preferred to believe, and did believe, that the more sensational hypothesis should be adopted. She must be a spy, who meant to get a good price for the famous papers. But why had she not stolen them before? Perhaps she had been in treaty with the enemy but had failed to get the terms she wanted. It did not seem adequate, but it was the only solution they could suggest.
Assuming, then, that she had stolen the papers to make money, what would be her first step? Beatrice—and Lionel agreed with her—thought that she was too clever to deal with underlings: she would go as near to the fountainhead as she could, to the Turkish ambassador himself, for he was a known adherent of the old régime. She would go as soon as possible, the next morning—i.e., about the present, what time Lionel was drinking beer in The Happy Heart,—but a dim recollection was beating in the brain of Beatrice that she had seen something of importance in the society news of a few days past. They searched the flat for every newspaper, and at last found the sheet they wanted. Hope beating at the doors, they scanned the column that Lionel never read, but that Beatrice studied first. Yes! there it was—the justification of her memory for seeming trivialities. "His excellency the Turkish ambassador has gone for a few days' golf to Shereling." Beatrice threw the paper away in flushed triumph, thought deeply for a few moments, and then said, "You must go there. Mizzi may follow and try to succeed at Shereling. Watch and do the best you can. I shall stay in London in case I am wrong, and keep an eye on the embassy. If she is at Shereling, try to get the treaty. I must leave you to work on your own lines. If I hear anything I shall wire to the local inn. Will you?"
Of course he said, "Yes. Is there anything else?"
"Money. No—do not protest. This is life and death, and both cost money." She ran to a little safe and returned, her hands full. "Here are notes for a hundred pounds or more. You may have to bribe. Do not refuse—it is for Lukos!"
Lionel longed to say, "Madam, my life and fortune are at your disposal. Let there be no mention of money between us." But seeing that his stock of ready cash had dwindled to twopence-halfpenny (he had bought a packet of ten cigarettes the day before, and now cursed the extravagance), he could only say, "As you will."
"Thank you," she said softly, and laid her hand on his head. He thrilled, and she administered a necessary antidote. "It is for Lukos!"
"Oh, hang Lukos!" he groaned in spirit; and then in swift repentance his thoughts mumbled, "No, no! Bless Lukos—dear old Lukos! Poor old chap!"
After this there had been nothing but idle conversation until the hour of his departure approached. Once Beatrice fell into a fit of musing and presently she said, "What a fool I was to tell Mizzi!" A younger man might have said, "Not at all: it was perfectly natural." Lionel, older, more self-reliant, and more honest, replied simply, "We all make mistakes," for he thought her folly almost incredible. She felt this—they were more than sympathiques—and said, "Ah! if you knew! I was very lonely one night ... lonely and sad ... I had to talk to some one, and believed her a true friend. You can imagine my self-reproach." He could, and felt himself more than justified in pressing her hand.
Presently there had been some suspense, for when the time came for him to leave the flat, at half past four, Beatrice had peeped from the window and imagined that she saw a man watching the house. Lionel peeped too, but could see nothing. Nevertheless they had waited another ten minutes, as long as they dared if he was to catch the first train. But at length he resolved to risk a spy, and after a brief, tense, but outwardly calm "good-by" he had left the house. By taking a cab he reached Euston in time, and at last was established in the train. So far as he knew, he had not been followed: the only stranger he had noticed had been a man who was in the train before he was on the platform, so from him there could be nothing to fear.