“Has no one else been able to open your safe and examine its contents?” asked the Frenchman, glancing over to the small steel door let into the wall close to where he was sitting.

“No one.  Though I’m blind, do you consider me a fool?  Surely I recognise only too well how essential is secrecy.  Have I not always taken the most extraordinary precautions?”

“You have, Sir Henry.  I quite admit that.  Indeed, the precautions you’ve taken would, if known to the world, be regarded—­well, as simply amazing.”

“I hope the world will never know the truth.”

“It will know the truth.  They have the copies in Athens.  If there is a traitor—­as we have now proved the existence of one—­then we can never in future rest secure.  At any moment another exposure may result, with its attendant disaster.”

The Baronet halted before one of the long windows, the morning sunshine falling full upon his sad, grey face.  He drew a long sigh and said, “Goslin, do not let us discuss the future.  Tell me exactly what is the present situation.”

“The present situation,” the Frenchman said in a dry, matter-of-fact voice, “is one full of peril for us.  You have, over there in your safe, a certain paper—­a confidential report which you received direct from Vienna.  It was brought to you by special messenger because its nature was not such as should be sent through the post.  A trusted official of the Austrian Ministry of Foreign Affairs brought it here.  To whom did he deliver it?”

“To Gabrielle.  She signed a receipt.”

“And she broke the seals?”

“No.  I was present, and she handed it to me.  I broke the seals myself.  She read it over to me.”

“Ah!” ejaculated the Frenchman suspiciously.  “It is unfortunate that you are compelled to entrust our secrets to a woman.”

“My daughter is my best friend; indeed, perhaps my only friend.”

“Then you have enemies?”

“Who has not?”

“True.  We all of us have enemies,” replied the mysterious visitor.  “But in this case, how do you account for that report falling into the hands of the people in Athens?  Who keeps the key of the safe?”

“I do.  It is never out of my possession.”

“At night what do you do with it?”

“I hide it in a secret place in my room, and I sleep with the door locked.”

“Then, as far as you are aware, nobody has ever had possession of your key—­not even mademoiselle your daughter?”

“Not even Gabrielle.  I always lock and unlock the safe myself.”

“But she has access to its contents when it is open,” the visitor remarked.  “Acting as your secretary, she is, of course, aware of a good deal of your business.”

“No; you are mistaken.  Have we not arranged a code in order to prevent her from satisfying her woman’s natural inquisitiveness?”

“That’s admitted.  But the document in question, though somewhat guarded, is sufficiently plain to any one acquainted with the nature of our negotiations.”