“Thank you, Miss Huston.  Then did Graves, or Millard, as I call him, express any hope of becoming suddenly well to do?”

“Yes; and now I can understand how he has lied to me.  He let me believe that he hoped to profit through mining concessions to Americans that would follow the overthrow of one of the petty despots in Central America.”

“Yet Millard has been away from Washington much, has he not?”

“Most of the time during the last four months.  He generally managed to get over here for one day out of the seven; sometimes two days at a time.”

“I believe the whole matter is becoming rather clear in my mind.  I do not mind telling you, Miss Huston, how I first came to know the fellow.  He was over at our shipyard in Dunhaven, trying to get employment on the construction of submarine boats.  But something in his manner made us suspect him, and he didn’t get near the secrets of any of our boats.”

There was one other thing, however, that Benson felt he would like to have cleared up.  So he inquired: 

“How did you know that I was at the United Service Club?  Did Millard know?  Did he tell you to go there?”

“He guessed where you might be.  He asked me to drive to the club first; if you were not there, then I was to drive to the Arlington.  Failing to find you at either place, I was to go back to the hotel in the evening.  In the event of my finding you at the hotel I was to see you in the ladies’ parlor.  But, oh!  What can you think of me, Mr. Benson, to have come to you on such an errand—­on a mission to save a betrayer of his Flag?”

“You came innocently, Miss Huston; that is all that I can understand.  And your whole attitude, since you discovered the truth, has been that of a loyal American girl who would crush her heart, even, for her country’s honor.”

“It isn’t going to be as hard as you think, perhaps,” she smiled, bitterly, “to cast the man out of my heart.  The man that I now know Donald Graves to be never was in my heart.  There is no room, there, for a traitor.”

She glanced out of the cab at the scene through which they were passing.  Jack Benson looked at the same time.

“I am terribly uneasy,” she confessed.  “Perhaps, even now, Mr. Benson, you had much better leave this carriage and let me go forward alone.  I am a woman, and therefore safe.  But I fear—­yes, actually fear for your life when he finds out!”

“Don’t be at all uneasy about me, Miss Huston,” begged Jack, with cool confidence.  “I have had rather a sturdy training in the art of taking care of myself.”

Though he did not allow the girl to see the motion, Jack felt stealthily at his right hip pocket.  Yes; the loaded revolver was there.  Jack did not believe much in the practice of carrying concealed weapons.  He had great contempt both for the nerve and the judgment of fool boys who carried revolvers, loaded or otherwise.  But just now the situation was different.  Jack Benson was an acting lieutenant in the United States Navy.  Just before leaving the Navy Department he and his comrades had each been advised to take a proffered weapon and carry it against the chance that they might find Millard—­or Graves—­in Washington, and find themselves under the necessity of taking him prisoner.