“Certainly.”
“Then, if a life must be taken, why not hers?”
There was a silence, broken only by the low rumble of carriages and cabs outside.
“No,” His Excellency answered. “Before I give you perfect freedom in this matter you shall promise me that she shall be spared. I have reasons—strong ones.”
“Certainly, if you desire it,” the secret agent replied. The thought at that moment flashed across his mind that, if for the preservation of their secret her lips must necessarily be closed, there were others beside himself who would compass her death. The life of a man or woman can always be taken for a sovereign in London, if one knows where to look for men ready to accomplish such work.
“Then you give me your promise?” the Count asked eagerly.
“On one condition only,” Malvano replied in a firm voice, while his eyes fixed themselves upon those of the Ambassador.
“What is your condition?” His Excellency inquired.
“There must be no secret between you and me, for in order to successfully accomplish this stroke of diplomacy we must act deliberately, with forethought, and yet boldly face the facts, risking everything—even our lives,” he answered. Then, gazing straight into the other’s face, he added, “I shall not act unless you allow me to read the despatch you received to-day from Rome.” The Ambassador’s brows instantly contracted, and he held his breath. For the first time, he became seized with a suspicion that this man, whose deep cunning as a secret agent was almost miraculous, was now playing him false.
“No,” he answered, “that is impossible. My oath to the King prevents me showing any one a despatch marked as confidential.”