“You’re quite right as to those high up in the service,” Marston remarked, “the remuneration, I mean, but not as to us poor devils who are only the pawns.  We not only have no glory nor honour, but considering the danger and what we do we are mightily ill paid, my lady, mightily ill paid.  The fascination and danger of the game, as you say, is what holds us.  At any rate, it’s what holds me—­and the pleasure of working sometimes with you, and what that means.”

“And we always win when together because we are in accord,” she smiled, holding out her hand to him.  “Team work, my good friend, team work!”

He took the hand, and bending over raised it to his lips with an air of fine courtesy and absolute devotion.

“And we shall win this time, Marston,” she went on, “we shall sail for Europe before the week is ended—­I’m sure of it.”

“I shall be satisfied if we never sail—­or sail always,” he returned, and slowly released her fingers and stepped back.

She paid him with a ravishing smile; and Madeline Spencer, when she wished, could smile a man into fire—­and out again.  It was too soon for the “out again” with Marston.  He was very useful—­he was not restless, nor demanding, nor sensitive, nor impatient of others, nor jealous.  He was like a faithful dog, who adores and adores, and pleads only to be allowed to adore.  Moreover, he was a capable man and trustworthy; dependable and far above his class.  Therefore she took care that his chains should be silken, yet at the same time that he be not permitted to graze too far afield.

“I wonder,” Marston was saying, after a little thought, “if Carpenter, the Chief of the Secret Bureau of their State Department, might be purchasable—­if we made him a good stiff bid?”

“I don’t know,” she answered.  “It isn’t likely, however; he is too old and tried an official to be venal.  Furthermore we haven’t any money at hand, and my instructions are to act independently of the German Embassy, and under no circumstances whatever to communicate with it.  In such business as we are engaged, the Embassy never knows us nor of our plans.  They don’t dare to know; and they will calmly deny us if we appeal to them.”

“The money might be arranged,” Marston suggested.  “You could cable to Berlin for it—­and have it cabled back.”

“It might be done,” said she thoughtfully.  “You mean to try Carpenter for a copy of the cipher letter?”

“It won’t do any particular harm, as I see it; it can’t make us any worse off and it may give us the letter.  It’s worth the trial, it seems to me.”

“But if Carpenter has not succeeded in finding the key-word, how will the letter help?  Do you expect to bribe the French Embassy also?”

“It may not be necessary,” he replied.  “I know a number of keys of French ciphers; one of them may fit.”

“Very well,” said she quietly; “you are empowered to have a try at Carpenter.”