"In any ordinary case," he continued, "I would not ask you to betray your employer's confidence. As things are, I think I am justified. You are English, are you not? You realise, I suppose, that the country is on the brink of war?"

She looked at him from the depths of her still, lusterless eyes.

"You must be a very foolish person," she remarked, "if you expect to obtain information in this manner."

"Perhaps I am," he confessed, "but my folly has brought me to you, and you can give me the information if you will."

"Where is Mr. Fentolin?" she asked.

"Down at the Tower," he replied. "I left him there. He sent me up to see Miss Fentolin. I was looking for her when the click of your typewriter reminded me of other things."

She turned composedly back to her work.

"I think," she said, "that you had better go and find Miss Fentolin."

"Don't talk nonsense! You can't think I have risked giving myself away to you for nothing? I mean to search this room, to read the papers which you are typing."

She glanced around her a little contemptuously.

"You are welcome," she assured him. "Pray proceed."

They exchanged the glances of duelists. Her plain black frock was buttoned up to her throat. Her colourless face seemed set in exact and expressionless lines. Her eyes were like windows of glass. He felt only their scrutiny; nothing of the reason for it, or of the thoughts which stirred behind in her brain. There was nothing about her attitude which seemed in any way threatening, yet he had the feeling that in this interview it was she who possessed the upper hand.

"You are a foolish person," she said calmly. "You are so foolish that you are not, in all probability, in the slightest degree dangerous. Believe me, ours is an unequal duel. There is a bell upon this table which has apparently escaped your notice. I sit with my finger upon the button - so. I have only to press it, and the servants will be here. I do not wish to press it. I do not desire that you should be, as you certainly would be, banished from this house."

He was immensely puzzled. She had not resented his strange intrusion. She had accepted it, indeed, with curious equanimity.

Her forefinger lingered still over the little ivory knob of the bell attached to her desk. He shrugged his shoulders.

"You have the advantage of me," he admitted, a little curtly. "All the same, I think I could possess myself of those sheets of paper, you know, before the bell was answered."

"Would it be wise, I wonder, then, to ensure their safety?" she asked coolly.

Her finger pressed the bell. He took a quick step forward. She held out her hand.

"Stop!" she ordered. "These sheets will tell you nothing which you do not know already unless you are a fool. Never mind the bell.

That is my affair. I am sending you away."

He leaned a little towards her.

"It wouldn't be possible to bribe you, I suppose?"

She shook her head.

"I wonder you haven't tried that before. No, it would not - not with money, that is to say."

"You'll tell Mr. Fentolin, I presume?" he asked quickly.

"I have nothing to tell him," she replied. "Nothing has happened.

Richards," she went on, as a servant entered the room, "Mr. Hamel is looking for Miss Fentolin. Will you see if you can find her?"

The man's expression was full of polite regret.

"Miss Fentolin went over to Legh Woods early this morning, sir," he announced. "She is staying to lunch with Lady Saxthorpe."

Hamel stood quite still for a moment. Then he turned to the window.

In the far distance he could catch a glimpse of the Tower. Mr.

Fentolin's chair had disappeared from the walk.

"I am sorry," he said. "I must have made a mistake. I will hurry back."

There were more questions which he was longing to ask, but the cold negativeness of her manner chilled him. She sat with her fingers poised over the keys, waiting for his departure. He turned and left the room.