“A man’s heart, you mean?”

“Certainly.  A man is in control of such affairs.”

“Then Mrs. Spencer’s presence here indicates that this letter matter is of the first importance to Germany.”

“It indicates that her business is of the first importance to Germany; the letter may simply be incidental to that business, in that its delivery to the French Ambassador will embarrass or complicate that business.  The latter is likely the fact.”

“It grows more involved every minute,” Mrs. Clephane sighed.  “It’s useless to try to make me comprehend.  I want to hear what happened to you; such simple concrete doings are more adapted to my unsophisticated mind.”

“When I returned to the telephone, you were gone,” he said; “I waited awhile, then cruised through the rooms, then went back to our place and waited again.  Finally I went in to dinner, leaving word to be notified the moment you returned.  I was at my soup when a note was brought to me saying that you had just seen someone whom you wished to avoid, and asking me to dine with you in your apartment—­and that you would explain your disappearance.  I went up at once to No. 972; and there encountered pretty much similar treatment to yours,”—­and he detailed the episode, down to the time she reappeared in the corridor.

She had heard him through without an interruption; at the end she said simply: 

“I’ve absolutely no business in this affair, Mr. Harleston.  When such things can happen in this hotel, in the very centre of the National Capital and among the throngs of diners and guests, it behooves an ordinary woman to seek safety in a hospital or a prison.  It seems that the greater the prominence of the place, the greater the danger and the less liability to arrest.”

“In diplomacy!” he acquiesced.

“Then again, I say, Heaven save me from meddling in diplomacy!”

“Amen, my lady!  Moreover,” he added, as they arose and passed into the corridor, “I want you as you are.”

Once again their eyes met—­she coloured and looked away.

“Play the game, Mr. Harleston,” she reminded, “play the game!  And thank you for a delicious dinner and a charming evening—­and don’t forget you’ve an appointment at ten.”

“I had forgotten!” he laughed, drawing out his watch.

It was ten minutes of the hour.

“Take me to the F Street elevator and then hurry on,” said she.

“And you will do nothing—­and go nowhere until tomorrow?” he asked.

“I’ll promise to remain here until—­”

“I come for you in the morning?” he broke in.

“If I’m not abducted in the interval, I’ll wait,” and stepped into the car.  “Good-night, Mr. Harleston!” she smiled—­and the car shot upward.

“Hum!” muttered Harleston as he turned for his coat and hat.  “I may be a fool, but I’ll risk it—­and I think I’m not.”

It was but a step to Headquarters and he walked.