“In that event you have the consideration which you were to pay for the letter,” Harleston returned.

“My dear Guy, where would I carry this consideration?” she laughed, with a sweeping motion to her narrow lingerie gown that could not so much as conceal a pocket.

“I don’t imagine that you are carrying gold or even Bank of England notes.  You’re not so crude.  The consideration is, most likely, a note to the German Ambassador, on the presentation of which the money will be paid in good American gold.  And I’m so sure of the facts that it is either the formula or the consideration.  The latter we shall not appropriate; the former we shall keep.”

“And if I have neither?” she asked.

“Then we get neither—­though that is a consummation most unlikely.”

“And how are you to determine?”

“By your gracious surrender of it!”

She laughed softly.  “But if I am not able to be gracious?”

“I trust that we shall not be obliged to go so far.”  And when she would have answered he cut her short, courteously but with finality.  “You’ve lost, Madeline; now be a good loser.  You’ve won from me, and made me pay stakes and then some—­and I’ve paid and smiled.”

“Exactly!  You’ve paid; I can’t pay, because one loses before one pays, and I haven’t anything to lose.”

“You will prove it?” he asked.

“Certainly,” said she.  “Do you wish me to submit to a search?”

“I don’t wish it, but you have left no alternative.”

“Burr!” went the telephone.

The Secretary answered.  “Here is Mr. Harleston,” he said and pushed the instrument over.

“This is Ranleigh,” came the voice.  “We’ve searched the man, also the cab, and found nothing beyond some innocent personal correspondence.  We’ve retained the correspondence and let the man go.”

“That, I suppose,” Mrs. Spencer remarked as Harleston hung up the receiver, “was to say that Mr. Snodgrass and the cab have been thoroughly searched and nothing suspicious found.”

“Your intuition is marvellous,” Harleston answered.  “Major Ranleigh’s report was that exactly.  Consequently, Madeline, the letter must be with you.”

“How about the consideration that Captain Snodgrass received from me in return for the formulaic letter?” she asked.  “He doesn’t seem to have had it.”

“Maybe you managed both to get the letter from him and to keep the consideration.  It would not be the first time I have known you to accomplish it.”

“Only once—­against you, Guy!” she laughed.

Which was a lie; but scored for her—­and, for the moment, silenced him.

She shot a glance at the Secretary.  He was beating a tattoo on the pad before him and looking calmly at her—­as impersonal as though she were a door-jamb; and she understood; however much he might be inclined to aid her, this was not the time for him even to appear interested.  On another occasion, a deux, he would display sufficient ardour and admiration.  At present it must be the impassive face and the judicial manner.  The business of the great Government he had the honour to represent was at issue!