He smiled—­somewhat chillily, it must be admitted—­and whispered, his speaking voice being shut off by the garrote.

“The quicker you look, the sooner I shall, I hope, be released from this rather uncomfortable position.”

“Good eye!” said Crenshaw.  “You’re a reasonable man, Mr. Harleston, it’s a pleasure to do business with you.”

“Proceed!” Harleston whispered.  “I haven’t the letter with me, as you should know.  Do I look so much like a novice?  Furthermore, if I am not mistaken, I told you that I was going direct to the State Department to deliver the letter for translation so how could I have it now?”

“We’re not debating, we’re searching,” Crenshaw sneered; “though it may occur to you that a copy is as easy of translation as the original.  However, we will proceed with the inspection—­the proof of the caviare is in the roe of the sturgeon.”

“Then I pray you open the fish at once,” said Harleston.  “I can’t assist you in my present attitude, so get along, Mr. Crenshaw, if you please.  You interrupted my dinner—­I was just at the soup; and you may believe me when I say that I’m a bit hungry.”

“With your permission,” Crenshaw replied, proceeding to go through Harleston’s pockets, and finding nothing but the usual—­which he replaced.

He came last to the breast-pocket of the coat; in it were the wallet and one letter—­the letter that had brought Harleston here.

“It caught you!” Crenshaw smiled.  “There’s no bait like a pretty woman!”

Harleston raised his eyebrows and shrugged his answer.

“And a rather neat trap, wasn’t it—­we’re very much pleased with it.”

“You’ll not be pleased with what it produces,” Harleston smiled.

“It has produced you,” the other mocked; “that’s quite some production, don’t you think?  And now, as this letter has served its purpose, I’ll take the liberty of destroying it,” tearing it into bits and putting the bits in his pockets, “lest one of us be liable for forgery.  Now for the pocket-book; you found something in mine, you may remember, Mr. Harleston.”

Harleston gave a faint chuckle.  They would find nothing in his pocket-book but some visiting and membership cards, a couple of addresses and a few yellow-backs and silver certificates.

“The letter doesn’t seem to be there—­which I much regret, but these visiting cards may be useful in our business; with your permission I’ll take them.  Thank you, Mr. Harleston.”

He folded the book and returned it to Harleston’s pocket.

“I might have looked in your shoes, or done something disagreeable—­I believe I even promised to smash your face when I got the opportunity—­but I’m better disposed now.  I shall return good for evil; instead of tying you up as you did me, I’ll release you from your bonds if you give me your word to remain quiet in this room until tomorrow morning at eight, and not to disclose to anyone, before that hour, what has occurred here.”