She passed a slender hand over her eyes as though unutterably weary:
“Neeland,” she said, “I am lost already.... And I am very tired.”
“What do you mean?” he demanded, drawing her back under a porte-cochère. “You live somewhere, 398 don’t you? If it’s safe for you to go back to your lodgings, I’ll take you there. Is it?”
“No.”
“Well, then, I’ll take you somewhere else. I’ll find somewhere to take you––”
She shook her head:
“It is useless, Neeland. There is no chance of my leaving the city now—no chance left—no hope. It is simpler for me to end the matter this way––”
“Can’t you go to the Turkish Embassy!”
She looked up at him in a surprised, hopeless way:
“Do you suppose that any Embassy ever receives a spy in trouble? Do you really imagine that any government ever admits employing secret agents, or stirs a finger to aid them when they are in need?”