“I’m greatly obliged, Madeline, for your shocking amazement,” Harleston chuckled.  “Meanwhile, and returning to the letter; who has the better title to possession, Mrs. Clephane or yourself?”

“As I remarked before, either of us has a better title to the letter than yourself.  Also—­I have heard you say it many times, and it is an accepted rule in the diplomatic game—­never meddle in what does not concern you; never help to pull another’s chestnuts out of the fire.”

“My dear lady, you are perfectly right!  I subscribe unreservedly to the rule, and try to follow it; but you have overlooked another rule—­the most vital of the code.”

“What is it, pray!”

“The old rule:—­Never believe your adversary.  Never tell the truth—­except when the truth will deceive more effectively than a lie.”

“That is entirely regular, yet not applicable to the present matter.  I’m not your adversary.”

“You say you’re not—­yet how does that avoid the rule?”

“Won’t you take my word, Guy?” she murmured.

“I am at a loss whether to take it or not,” he reflected; “being so, I’m in a state of equipoise until I’m shown.”

“Tell me how I can show you?” she smiled.

“I haven’t the remotest idea.  You know as well as I that if you were to tell me truthfully why you are here, and what you aim to accomplish, I couldn’t accept your story; I should have to substantiate it by other means.”

“You mean that I can’t show you?” she said sorrowfully.

He nodded.  “No more than I could show you were our positions reversed.”

What her purpose, in all this talk, he failed to see—­unless she were seeking to establish an entente cordiale, or to gain time.  The latter was the likelier—­yet time for what?  They both were aware that all this discussion was twaddle—­like much that is done in diplomacy; that they were merely skirmishing to determine something as to each other’s position.

“I had hoped that for once you would forget business and trust me,” she said softly; “in memory of old times when we worked together, as well as when we were against each other.  We played the game then for all that was in it, and neither of us asked nor gave quarter.  But this isn’t business Guy,—­” she had gradually bent closer until her hair brushed his cheek—­“that is, it isn’t business that concerns your government.  You may believe this implicitly, old enemy, absolutely implicitly.”

“With whom, then, has it to do?” he inquired placidly.

She sighed just a trifle—­and moved closer.

“You will never tell, nor use the information?” she breathed.

“Not unless my government needs it?”

“Peste!” she exclaimed.  “You and your government are—­However, I’ll tell you.”  Her voice dropped to a mere whisper.  “It has to do with England, Germany, and France:  at least, I so assume.  It has to do with Germany or I wouldn’t be in it, as you know.”