"Er—Mary," began the Home Secretary, but for once in a way he was at a loss for words. He knew from experience that the most obstreperous friend "opposite" was easier to deal with than a pretty niece.
"Zoe is here with me, too," said Mary, and the frizzy head of Zoe Oppner appeared over her friend's shoulder. "We are sorry to have overheard Mr. Sheffield's words, but I think we have heard too much not to ask to hear more. Do I understand, inspector, that someone has been spying on my maid?"
Inspector Sheffield glanced at the Right Hon. Walter Belford, and read an appeal in the eyes behind the pince-nez. He squared his shoulders in a manner that had something admirably manly about it—and told a straightforward lie.
"One of the Pinkerton men engaged by Mr. Oppner tried to get some letters from your maid, I believe; but there's not a scrap of evidence on the market, so he must have failed!"
"Evidence of what?" asked Zoe Oppner sharply.
Mr. Belford nervously tapped his fingers upon the chair-arm.
"Of your friendship, and Lady Mary's with Séverac Bablon!" replied the inspector boldly.
Lady Mary was pale, and her eyes grew wide; but the American girl laughed with undisguised glee.
"Séverac Bablon has never done a dirty thing yet," she said. "If we knew him we should be proud of it! Come on, Mary! Mr. Belford, I'm almost ashamed of you! You're nearly as bad as pa!"
They withdrew, and Mr. Belford heaved a great sigh of relief.