“That,” the Minister’s voice became softer and even more velvety, “that is unfortunate.”  There was silence again.  The knife was laid down, and the fingers moved slowly, heavily, on the desk.  “Still, I think, Wratslav, that Ivan should continue to work on the railroad—­and you also—­while the excellent shooting continues near—­ah—­the camp.  It seems best.”

The telephone on the desk tinkled.  His Excellency picked up the receiver.

“Yes, someone will come down.”

He hung up the receiver and turned to Wratslav.

“There is a telegram downstairs.  Go down and get it and bring it here.  Hurry.”

The secretary was back in a few moments with the envelope, which he handed to the Minister, who cut it open and read the message.  The ivory knife snapped in the tense grip; His Excellency looked idly at the pieces, but never a line of his face moved.

“Matters are a trifle more complicated, Wratslav.  We must think again.”  He handed the telegram to his assistant.  It read: 

“A British subject presents his compliments to Your Excellency, and begs to assure you that the statement which he has written and sent under seal to the British Ambassador in Washington will not be opened or its contents made known to anyone except in the event of the sudden demise of Baron Griffin or James Saunders.”

Wratslav returned the message to His Excellency and sat waiting.  The slow thrumming was resumed.  Then the Minister turned back to his desk, and his hand strayed to the papers on it.

“We may, perhaps, need both you and Ivan here in Washington for some time yet, Wratslav.”

“Yes, Excellency.”

The silence lasted a full minute.

“About the lady, Wratslav—­” the Minister almost smiled; “it would be a great honor were she to visit the Ministry soon.”

“Would she come, Excellency?”

The question was ignored.

“A very fast automobile could be used.  It could be made quite comfortable, I think.”

“If she made no outcry, Excellency.  There is that danger—­and of gossip also.”

“That, too, might be arranged.”

“But if she proves—­”

“She will not—­not if I announce, after receiving your telegram, that her arrival is momentarily expected—­traveling incognito, you see—­no fuss or receptions—­but a short visit before sailing back to Europe.  Over there it has been given out that she is traveling, so they know nothing outside the court.  The King is anxious.”  There was another flashing look from the keen eyes before the slow, “He rewards well,” spoken with meaning emphasis.

Wratslav answered the look.  “I will try, Excellency.”

“To try is not sufficient, Wratslav.”

“I will do it, Excellency.”

“That is better.”

So it came to pass that the dapper young man called Wratslav, and the rough one called Ivan, left next day in a fast automobile whose limousine body seemed especially built to interfere as little as possible with its speed.  Why it was kept constantly stored with provisions, and why it carried ropes and a tent of silk, no one of the workers in the camp knew; for none of them ever saw those things—­or indeed ever saw the interior of the car at all.