“What is it that you have found?” she cried breathlessly.

“Nothing,” he answered, “nothing of any importance.”

She rose slowly to her feet and came towards him.

“I am your partner in this hateful enterprise,” she reminded him.  “Show me that paper which you have just concealed.”

He laid his hand on the lid of the desk, but she caught it and held it open.

“I insist upon seeing it,” she said firmly.

He turned and faced her.  There was a most unpleasant light in his eyes.

“And I say that you shall not,” he declared.

There was a brief, intense silence.  Each seemed to be measuring the other’s strength.  Of the two, Catherine was the more composed.  Fenn’s face was still white and strained.  His lips were twitching, his manner nervous and jerky.  He made a desperate effort to reestablish ordinary relations.

“Look here, Miss Abbeway,” he said, “we don’t need to quarrel about this.  That paper I came across has a special interest for me personally.  I want to think about it before I say anything to a soul in the world.”

“You can consult with me,” she persisted.  “Our aims are the same.  We are here for the same purpose.”

“Not altogether,” he objected.  “I brought you here as my assistant.”

“Did you?”

“Well, have the truth, then!” he exclaimed.  “I brought you here to be alone with you, because I hoped that I might find you a little kinder.”

“I am afraid you have been disappointed, haven’t you?” she asked sweetly.

“I have,” he answered, with unpleasant meaning in his tone, “but we are not out of here yet.”

“You cannot frighten me,” she assured him.  “Of course, you are a man—­of a sort—­and I am a woman, but I do not fancy that you would find, if it came to force, that you would have much of an advantage.  However, we are wandering from the point.  I claim an equal right with you to see anything which you may discover in Mr. Orden’s papers.  I might, indeed, if I chose, claim a prior right.”

“Indeed?” he answered, with an ugly scowl on his face.  “Mr. Julian Orden is by way of being a particular friend, eh?”

“As a matter of fact,” Catherine told him, “we are engaged to be married.  It isn’t a serious engagement.  It was entered into by him in a most chivalrous manner, to save me from the consequences of a very clumsy attempt on my part to get back that packet.  But there it is.  Every one down at his home believes at the present moment that we are engaged and that I have come up to London to see our Ambassador.”

“If you are engaged,” Fenn sneered, “why hasn’t he told you more of his secrets?”

“Secrets!” she repeated, a little scornfully.  “I shouldn’t think he has any.  I should imagine his daily life could be investigated without the least fear.”

“You’d imagine wrong, then.”