“Yes, I do,” replied Mrs. Rotherick promptly.

“Why?” asked Enoch.

“They aren’t such cats as women,” she chuckled.  “Perhaps cat fear is your trouble!  What are you going to do about Mexico, Mr. Huntingdon?”

Enoch smiled.  “I told the President at great length, this afternoon, what I thought we ought to do.  He gave no evidence, however, that he was going to take my advice, or any one else’s for that matter.”

“Of course, I’m not trying to pick your confidence.  Mr. Secretary!” Mrs. Rotherick spoke quickly.  “You know, I’ve lived for years in Germany.  I say to you, beware of Germany in Mexico, Mr. Huntingdon.”

“What kind of people did you know in Germany?” asked Enoch.

“Many kinds!  But my most intimate friend was an American woman who was married to a German General, high in the confidence of the Kaiser.  I know the Kaiserin well.  I know that certain German diplomats are deeply versed in Mexican lore—­its geography, its geology, its people.  I know that Germany must have more land or burst.  Mr. Secretary, remember what I say, Germany is deeply interested in Mexico and she is the cleverest nation in the world to-day.”

“What nation is that, Mrs. Rotherick?” asked the Ambassador.

“Germany!” replied the little woman.

“Possibly you look at Germany through the eyes of a fiction writer,” suggested the Englishman.

“It’s impossible to fictionize Germany,” laughed Mrs. Rotherick.  “One could much more easily write a rhapsody on—­”

“On the Secretary of the Interior,” interrupted the Ambassador.

“Or on the Bank of England,” laughed Mrs. Rotherick.  “Very well, gentlemen!  I hope you never will have cause to remember my warning!”

It was just as the ladies were leaving the table that Enoch said to Mrs. Rotherick:  “Will you be so kind as to write me a letter telling me of your suspicions of Germany in Mexico?  I shall treat it as confidential.”

Mrs. Rotherick nodded, and he did not see her again that evening.  Just before Enoch departed for his engagement with Senor Cadiz, the Ambassador buttonholed him.

“Look here, Huntingdon,” he said, “that little Mrs. Rotherick knows a thing or two.  She’s better informed on international relations than many chaps in the diplomatic service.  If I were you I’d pump her.”

“Thanks, Mr. Johns-Eaton,” replied Enoch.  “Look here, just how much of a row are you fellows going to make about those mines in the Alaskan border country?  Why shouldn’t Canada take that trouble on?”

“Just how much trouble are you going to make about the seal misunderstanding?” demanded Johns-Eaton.

“Well,” replied Enoch, with a wide smile, “I have a new gelding I’d like to try out, to-morrow morning.  If you’ll join me at seven-thirty on that rack of bones you call a bay mare, I’ll tell you all I know.”

“You will, like thunder!” laughed Johns-Eaton.  “But I’ll be there and jolly well give you the opportunity!”