There was something very magnetic about Mr. Carter’s personality.  Tuppence seemed to shake herself free of it with an effort, as she said: 

“We couldn’t do that, could we, Tommy?”

But to her surprise, her companion did not back her up.  His eyes were fixed on Mr. Carter, and his tone when he spoke held an unusual note of deference.

“I dare say the little we know won’t be any good to you, sir.  But such as it is, you’re welcome to it.”

“Tommy!” cried out Tuppence in surprise.

Mr. Carter slewed round in his chair.  His eyes asked a question.

Tommy nodded.

“Yes, sir, I recognized you at once.  Saw you in France when I was with the Intelligence.  As soon as you came into the room, I knew——­”

Mr. Carter held up his hand.

“No names, please.  I’m known as Mr. Carter here.  It’s my cousin’s house, by the way.  She’s willing to lend it to me sometimes when it’s a case of working on strictly unofficial lines.  Well, now”—­he looked from one to the other—­“who’s going to tell me the story?”

“Fire ahead, Tuppence,” directed Tommy.  “It’s your yarn.”

“Yes, little lady, out with it.”

And obediently Tuppence did out with it, telling the whole story from the forming of the Young Adventurers, Ltd., downwards.

Mr. Carter listened in silence with a resumption of his tired manner.  Now and then he passed his hand across his lips as though to hide a smile.  When she had finished he nodded gravely.

“Not much.  But suggestive.  Quite suggestive.  If you’ll excuse my saying so, you’re a curious young couple.  I don’t know—­you might succeed where others have failed . . .  I believe in luck, you know—­always have....”

He paused a moment, and then went on.

“Well, how about it?  You’re out for adventure.  How would you like to work for me?  All quite unofficial, you know.  Expenses paid, and a moderate screw?”

Tuppence gazed at him, her lips parted, her eyes growing wider and wider.

“What should we have to do?” she breathed.

Mr. Carter smiled.

“Just go on with what you’re doing now.  Find Jane Finn.”

“Yes, but—­who is Jane Finn?”

Mr. Carter nodded gravely.

“Yes, you’re entitled to know that, I think.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, brought the tips of his fingers together, and began in a low monotone: 

“Secret diplomacy (which, by the way, is nearly always bad policy!) does not concern you.  It will be sufficient to say that in the early days of 1915 a certain document came into being.  It was the draft of a secret agreement—­treaty—­call it what you like.  It was drawn up ready for signature by the various representatives, and drawn up in America—­at that time a neutral country.  It was dispatched to England by a special messenger selected for that purpose, a young fellow called Danvers.  It was hoped that the whole affair had been kept so secret that nothing would have leaked out.  That kind of hope is usually disappointed.  Somebody always talks!