“I wish you would let it end right now,” he urged.

“That wouldn’t be the part of a good sport, nor would it be just to Madame Durrand.  She trusts me.”

“Then inform the French Ambassador of all the facts and circumstances and retire from the game,” he advised.

“Shall I inform him over the telephone?” she asked.

“You would never get the Ambassador on the telephone, unless you were known to some one of the staff who could vouch for you.”

“I don’t know anyone on the staff, but Mrs. Durrand has likely communicated with the Embassy.”

“If she has, she had given them a minute description of you, yet that can not be used to identify you over the telephone.”

“I hesitate to go to the Embassy without the letter,” she said.

“Why do you hesitate?” he smiled.

“Because I—­don’t want to admit defeat.”

“Which of itself will serve to substantiate your story.  One skilled in the game would have lost no time in informing the Embassy of the loss of the letter.  He would have realized that, next to the letter itself, the news of its seizure was the best thing he could deliver—­also, it was his duty to advise the Embassy at the quickest possible moment.  You see, dear lady, personal pride and pique play no part in this game.  They are not even considered; it’s the execution of the mission that’s the one important thing; all else is made to bend to that single end.”

“Then I should go to the French Embassy tonight with my story?” she asked.

“You should have gone this morning—­the instant you were returned to the hotel!  Now, unless Madame Durrand had written about you, it’s a pretty good gamble that the Spencer crowd has forestalled you.”

“Forestalled me!  What do you mean?”

“Mrs. Spencer admitted to me that your release was someone’s blunder.  The normal thing was to hold you prisoner and so prevent you from communicating with the Ambassador until they had obtained the letter or defeated its purpose.  That was not done; but Spencer, you may assume, has attempted to rectify their blunder—­possibly by impersonating you, and giving the Marquis d’Hausonville some tale that will fall in with her plans and gain time for her.”

“Impersonating me!” Mrs. Clephane exclaimed incredulously.

“Yes.  She knows all the material circumstance—­witness the telephone call that inveigled you into the drive up the Avenue, et cetera—­and she’ll take the chance that you are not known to the Marquis nor any of the staff, or even the chance that Madame Durrand has not yet informed them.  Indeed she may have taken precautions against her informing them.  A few bribes to the hospital attendants, carefully distributed, would be sufficient.  It’s not everyone who could, or would venture to, pull off the coup, but with Spencer the very daring of a thing adds to its pleasure and its zest.”