The moment he let fall this key-word, “Politics,” I began to suspect that he was right. The woman had exhibited relief when I had said I was an American. We lived in a maze of spies of nearly every class of life, rarely using the post-office, trusting no one. With our own secret agents I had little to do. The first secretary or the minister saw them, and we were not badly served either in England or France; but all this did not do more than enable me to see my D’Artagnan’s notion as possibly a reasonable guess.
After a moment’s thought I said: “You may be right; but even if you are, the matter remains a problem which we are very unlikely ever to solve. But how can a handsome young American woman be so deeply concerned in some political affair as to account for this amazing conduct of a secretary not yet a week old in the work of the imperial Foreign Office.”
Merton smiled. “We exhaust personal motives—what else is left? Politics! She may know something which it seems to be desirable she should not know. We must find her.”
The more I considered his theory, the more I inclined to doubt it. At all events as things stood it was none of our business—and after a moment’s reflection I said:
“We have quite enough on our hands without the woman. I shall see the count to-day, and then we may be in a better position to know what further should be done.”
“Done?” laughed the captain. “I shall give all three fools what is called satisfaction. I don’t take much stock in them. I hate Aramis. It’s the woman interests me the most.”
“The woman? I assure you, I am out of that.”
“Oh, no, no! We must find her. She is in trouble.”
I laughed. “Can we find her?”
“We must. I like her looks.”