There being no help from that high and mighty quarter, she turned to Harleston.

“Well,” with a shrug of resignation, “I’ve lost and must pay.  Here,” opening the mesh-bag that she carried, “is the—­”

She threw up her hand, and a nasty little automatic was covering the Secretary’s heart.

He gave a shout—­and sat perfectly still.  Mrs. Clephane, with an exclamation of fear, laid her hand on Harleston’s arm.  Carpenter was impassive.  Harleston suppressed a smile.

“Tell them if I can shoot straight, Guy,” Mrs. Spencer said pleasantly; “and meanwhile do you all keep your exact distance and position.  Speak your piece, Mr. Harleston—­tell his Excellency if I can shoot.”

“I am quite ready to assume it without the testimony of Mr. Harleston, or ocular demonstration in this immediate direction,” the Secretary remarked with a weak grin.

“Tell him, if I can shoot, Guy,” she ordered.

“I’ve never seen her better,” Harleston admitted “though I’m not at all fearful for your Excellency.  Mrs. Spencer won’t shoot; she’s only bluffing.  If you’ll say the word, I’ll engage to disarm her.”

“Meanwhile what happens to his Excellency?” Madeline Spencer mocked.

“Nothing whatever—­except a few nervous moments.”

“Try it, Mr. Secretary, and find out!” she laughed across the levelled revolver.

“Train your gun on Mr. Harleston and test him,” the Secretary suggested, attempting to be facetious and failing.

Mrs. Spencer might be, probably was, bluffing but he did not propose to be the one to call it; the result was quite too uncertain.  He had never looked into the muzzle of a revolver, and he found the experience distinctly unpleasant—­she held the barrel so steady and pointed straight at his heart.  Diplomatic secrets were wanted of course, but they were not to be purchased by the life of the Secretary of State, nor even by an uncertain chance at it.

“Mr. Harleston’s life isn’t sufficiently valuable to the nation,” she replied, “I prefer to shoot you, if necessary—­though I trust it won’t be necessary.  What’s a mere scrap of paper, without value save as a means to detect its author, compared to the life of the greatest American diplomat?  Moreover, the letter would yield you nothing as to its meaning nor its author.  The meaning you already know, since you have found the key-word to the cipher; so only the author remains; and as it is typewritten you will have small, very small, prospect from it.”  She had read the Secretary aright—­and now she asked:  “Am I not correct, your Excellency?”

“I think you are,” the Secretary replied, “We all are obligated and quite ready to give our lives for our country, if the sacrifice will benefit it in the very least; yet I can’t see the obligation in this instance, can you Harleston?”

“None in the least, sir, provided your life were at issue,” Harleston answered.  “For my part, I think it isn’t even seriously threatened.  If Mrs. Spencer will shift her aim to me, I’ll take a chance.”