“It’s a good thing that I didn’t wait to put a dictograph there,” he remarked to us.  “I thought I wasn’t reckoning without reason.  The couple, whoever they are, are talking in undertones and looking about the room to see if anything has been disturbed in their absence.”

Kennedy alone, of course, could follow over his end of the telephone what they said.  The rest of us could do nothing but wait, but from notes which Craig jotted down as he listened to the conversation I shall reproduce it as if we had all heard it.  There were some anxious moments until at last they had satisfied themselves that no one was listening and that no dictograph or other mechanical eavesdropper, such as they had heard of, was concealed in the furniture or back of it.

“Why are you so particular, Henri?” a woman’s voice was saying.

“Louise, I’ve been thinking for a long time that we are surrounded by spies in these hotels.  You remember I told you what happened at the Vanderveer the night you and Madame arrived?  I’m sure that waiter overheard what Gonzales and I were talking about.”

“Well, we are safe now anyhow.  What was it that you would not tell me just now at luncheon?” asked the woman, whom Kennedy recognised as Madame de Nevers’s maid.

“I have a cipher from Washington.  Wait until I translate it.”

There was a pause.  “What does it say?” asked the woman impatiently.

“It says,” repeated the man slowly, “that Miss Lovelace has gone to Washington.  She insists on knowing whether the death of Marie was a suicide or not.  Worse than that the Secret Service must have wind of some part of our scheme, for they are acting suspiciously.  I must go down there or the whole affair may be exposed and fall through.  Things could hardly be worse, especially this sudden move on her part.”

“Who was that detective who forced his way to see her the night they discovered Marie’s body?” asked the woman.  “I hope that that wasn’t the Secret Service also.  Do you think they could have suspected anything?”

“I hardly think so,” the man replied.  “Beyond the death of Madame they suspect nothing here in New York, I am convinced.  You are sure that all her letters were secured, that all clues to connect her with the business in hand were destroyed, and particularly that the package she was to deliver is safe?”

“The package?  You mean the plans for the coaling station on the Pacific near the Canal?  You see, Henri, I know.”

“Ha, ha,—­yes,” replied the man.  “Louise, shall I tell you a secret?  Can you keep it?”

“You know I can, Henri.”