"Small affair, this," Downing observed, as he piloted Lutchester through the stately reception rooms of the Embassy. "You see, we are all living a sort of touchy life here, nowadays. We try to be civil to any of the German or Austrian lot when we meet, but of course they don't come to our functions. And every now and then some of those plaguey neutrals get the needle and they don't come, so we never know quite where we are, Guadopolis has been avoiding us lately, and I hear he was seen out at the Lakewood Country Club with Count Reszka, the Rumanian Minister, a few days ago. Gave the Chief quite a little flurry, that did."

"There's an idea over in London," Lutchester remarked, "that a good deal of the war is being shaped in Washington nowadays."

"That is the Chief's notion," Downing assented. "I know he's pining to talk to you, so we'll go and do the dutiful."

Lutchester was welcomed as an old friend by both the Ambassador and his wife. The former drew him to a divan from which he could watch the entrance to the rooms, and sat by his side.

"I am glad they sent you out, Lutchester," he said earnestly. "If ever a country needed watching by a man with intelligence and experience, this one does to-day."

"Do you happen to know that fellow Oscar Fischer?" Lutchester asked.

"I do, and I consider him one of the most dangerous people in the States for us," the Ambassador declared. "He has a great following, huge wealth, and, although he is not a man of culture, he doesn't go about his job in that bull-headed way that most of them do."

"He's trying things on with Japan," Lutchester observed. "I think I shall manage to checkmate him there all right. But there's another scheme afloat that I don't follow so closely. You know Senator Hastings, I suppose?"

The Ambassador nodded.

"Senator Theodore Hastings," he repeated thoughtfully. "Yes, he's rather a dark horse. He is supposed to be the President's bosom friend, but I hear whispers that he'd give his soul for a nomination, adopt any cause or fight any one's battle."

"That's my own idea of him," Lutchester replied, "and I think you will find him in the field with a pretty definite platform before long."

"You think he's mixed up with Fischer?" the Ambassador inquired.

"I'm sure he is," Lutchester assented. "Not only that, but they have something up their sleeve. I think I can guess what it is, but I'm not sure. How have things seemed to you here lately?"

"To tell you the truth, I haven't liked the look of them," the Ambassador confided. "There's something afoot, and I can't be sure what it is. Look at the crowd to-night. Of course, all the Americans are here, but the diplomatic attendance has never been so thin. The Rumanian Minister and his wife, the Italian, the Spanish, and the Swedish representatives are all absent. I have just heard, too, that Baron von Schwerin is giving a dinner-party."

Lutchester looked thoughtfully at the little stream of people. The Ambassador left him for a few moments to welcome some late comers. He returned presently and resumed his seat by Lutchester's side.

"Of course," he continued, lowering his voice, "all formal communications between us and the enemy Embassies have ceased, but it has come to be an understood thing, to avoid embarrassments to our mutual friends, that we do not hold functions on the same day. I heard that Von Schwerin was giving this dinner-party, so I sent round this morning to inquire. The reply was that it was entirely a private one. One of our youngsters brought us in a list of the guests a short time ago. I see Hastings is one of them, and Fischer, and Rumania and Greece will be represented. Now Hastings was to have been here, and as a rule the neutrals are very punctilious."

"I suppose the way that naval affair was represented didn't do us any good," Lutchester observed.

"It did us harm, without a doubt," was the lugubrious admission. "Still, fortunately, these people over here are clever enough to understand our idiosyncrasies. I honestly think we'd rather whine about a defeat than glory in a victory."

"Diplomatically, too," Lutchester remarked thoughtfully, "I should have said that things seemed all right here. The President comes in for a great deal of abuse in some countries. Personally, I think he has been wonderful."

The Ambassador nodded.

"You and I both know, Lutchester," he said, "that the last thing we want is to find America dragged into this war. Such a happening would be nothing more nor less than a catastrophe in itself, to say nothing of the internal dissensions here. On the other hand, as things are now, Washington is becoming a perfect arena for diplomatic chicanery, and I have just an instinct—I can't define it in any way—which leads me to believe that some fresh trouble has started within the last twenty-four hours."

Lady Ridlingshawe motioned to her husband with her fan, and he rose at once to his feet.

"I must leave you to look after yourself for a time, Lutchester," he concluded. "You'll find plenty of people here you know. Don't go until you've seen me again."

Lutchester wandered off in search of Pamela. He found her with Mrs. Hastings, surrounded by a little crowd of acquaintances. Pamela waved her fan, and they made way for him.

"Mr. Lutchester, I have been looking everywhere for you!" she exclaimed. "What a secretive person you are! Why couldn't you tell me that Lady Ridlingshawe was your cousin? I want you to take me to her, please, I met her sister out in Nice."

She laid her fingers upon his arm, and they passed out of the little circle.

"All bluff, of course," she murmured. "Find the quietest place you can.
I want to talk to you."

They wandered out on to a balcony where some of the younger people were taking ices. She leaned over the wooden rail.

"Listen," she said, "I adore this atmosphere, and I am perfectly certain there is something going on—something exciting, I mean. You know that the Baron von Schwerin has a dinner-party?"

"I know that," he assented.

"Uncle Theodore is going with Mr. Fischer. He was invited at the last moment, and I understand that his presence was specially requested."

Lutchester stood for a short time in an absorbed and sombre silence. In the deep blue twilight his face seemed to have fallen into sterner lines. Without a doubt he was disturbed. Pamela looked at him anxiously.

"Is anything the matter?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Nothing definite, only for the last few hours I have felt that things here are reaching a crisis. There is something going on around us, something which seems to fill Fischer and his friends with confidence, something which I don't quite understand, and which it is my business to understand. That is really what is worrying me."

She nodded sympathetically and glanced around for a moment.

"Let me tell you something," she whispered. "This evening my uncle came into my room just before dinner. There is a little safe built in the wall for jewellery. He begged for the loan of it. His library safe, he said, was out of order. I couldn't see what he put in, but when he had closed the door he stood looking at it for a moment curiously. I made some jesting remark about its being a treasure chest, but he answered me seriously. 'You are going to sleep to-night, Pamela,' he said, 'within a few yards of a dozen or so of written words which will change the world's history.'"

Lutchester was listening intently. There was a prolonged pause.

"Well?" he asked, at last.

She glanced at the little Yale key which hung from her bracelet.

"Nothing! I was just wondering how I should be able to sleep through the night without opening the safe."

"But surely your uncle didn't give you the key!"

She shook her head.

"I don't suppose he knows I have such a thing," she replied. "He has a master-key himself to all the safes, which he used. This is one the housekeeper gave me as soon as I arrived."

Lutchester looked out into the darkness.

"Tell me," he inquired, "is that your house—the next one to this?"

"That's the old Hastings' house," she assented. "They are all family mansions along here."

"It looks an easy place to burgle," he remarked.

She laughed quietly.

"I should think it would be," she admitted. "There are any quantity of downstair windows. We don't have burglaries in Washington, though —certainly not this side of the city."

A little bevy of young people had found their way into the gardens. Lutchester waited until they had passed out of earshot before he spoke again.

"I have reason to believe," he continued, "that in the course of their negotiations Fischer has deposited with your uncle a certain autograph letter, of which we have already spoken, making definite proposals to America if she will change her attitude on the neutrality question."

"The written words," Pamela murmured.

Lutchester's hand suddenly closed upon her wrist. She was surprised to find his fingers so cold, yet marvellously tenacious.

"You are going to lose that key and I am going to find it," he said, quietly. "I am sorry—but you must."

"I am going to do nothing of the sort," Pamela objected.

His fingers remained like a cold vice upon her wrist. She made no effort to draw it away.

"Listen," he said; "do you believe that the Hastings-cum-Fischer party is going to be the best thing that could happen for America?"

"I certainly do not," she admitted.

"Then do as I beg. Let me take that key from your bracelet. You shall have no other responsibility."

"And what are you going to do with it?"

"You must leave that to me," he answered. "I will tell you as much as I can. I stopped Nikasti sailing for Japan, but I made a mortal enemy of him at the same time. He has come to Washington to consult with his Ambassador. They are together tonight. It is my mission to convince them of Germany's duplicity."

"I see…. And you think that these written words—?"

"Give the key to me," he begged, "and ask no questions."

She shook her head.

"I should object most strongly to nocturnal disturbers of my slumbers!"

It seemed to her that his frame had become tenser, his tone harder. The grip of his fingers was still upon her wrist.

"Even your objection," he said, "might not relieve you of the possibility of their advent."

"Don't be silly," she answered, "and, above all, don't try to threaten me. If you want my help—"

She looked steadfastly across at the looming outline of the Hastings' house.

"I do want your help," he assured her.

"How long should you require the letter for?"

"One hour," he replied.

She led him down some steps on to the smooth lawns which encircled the house. They passed in and out of some gigantic shrubs until at last they came to a paling. She felt along it for a few yards.

"There is a gate there," she told him. "Can you do anything with it?"

It was fastened by an old lock. He lifted it off its hinges, and they both passed through.

"Keep behind the shrubs as much as you can," she whispered. "There is a way into the house from the verandah here."

They reached at last the shadow of the building. She paused.

"Wait here for me," she continued. "I would rather enter the house without being seen, if I can, but it doesn't really matter. I can make some excuse for coming back. Don't move from where you are."

She glided away from him and disappeared. Lutchester waited, standing well back in the shadow of the shrubs. From the Embassy came all the time the sound of music, occasionally even the murmur of voices; from the dark house in front of him, nothing. Suddenly he heard what seemed to be the opening of a window, and then soft footsteps. Pamela appeared round the corner of the building, a white, spectral figure against that background of deep blue darkness. She came on tiptoe, running down the steps and holding her skirts with both hands.

"Not a soul has seen me," she whispered. "Take this quickly."

She thrust an envelope into his hands, and something hard with it.

"That's Uncle Theodore's seal," she explained. "He sealed up the envelope when he put it in there. Now come back quickly to the Embassy. You must please hurry with what you want to do. If I have left when you return, you must come back to exactly this place. That window"—she pointed upwards—"will be wide open. You must throw a pine cone or a pebble through it. I shall be waiting."

"I understand," he assured her.

They retraced their steps. Once more they drew near to the Embassy. The night had grown warmer and more windows had been opened. They reached the verandah. She touched his hand for a moment.

"Well," she said, "I don't know whether I have been wise or not. Try and be back in less than an hour, if you can. I am going in alone."

She left him, and Lutchester, after a few brief words with the Ambassador, hurried away to his task. In twenty minutes he stood before a tall, grey-stone building, a few blocks away, was admitted by a Japanese butler, and conducted, after some hesitation, into a large room at the back of the house. An elderly man, dressed for the evening, with the lapel of his coat covered with orders, was awaiting him.

"I am a stranger to you, Baron," Lutchester began.

"That does not matter," was the grave reply. "Ten minutes ago I had an urgent telephone call from our mutual friend. His Excellency told me that he was sending a special messenger, and begged me to give you a few minutes. I have left a conference of some importance, and I am here."

"A few minutes will be enough," Lutchester promised. "I am engaged by the English Government upon Secret Service work. I came to America, following a man named Fischer. You have heard of him?"

"I have heard of him," the Ambassador acknowledged.

"In New York," Lutchester continued, "he met one of your countrymen, Prince Nikasti, a man, I may add," Lutchester went on, "for whom I have the highest respect and esteem, although quite openly, years ago, he pronounced himself unfavourably disposed towards my country. The object of Fischer's meeting with Prince Nikasti was to convey to him certain definite proposals on behalf of the German Government. They wish for a rapprochement with your country. They offer certain terms, confirmation of which Fischer brought with him in an autograph letter."

There was a moment's silence. Not a word came from the man who seemed to have learnt the gift of sitting with absolute immovability. Even his eyes did not blink. He sat and waited.

"The proposals made to you are plausible and deserving of consideration," Lutchester proceeded. "Do not think that there exists in my mind, or would exist in the mind of any Englishman knowing of them, any feeling of resentment that these proposals should have been received by you for consideration. Nothing in this world counts to those who follow the arts of diplomacy, save the simple welfare of the people whom he represents. It is therefore the duty of every patriot to examine carefully all proposals made to him likely to militate to the advantage of his own people. You have a letter, offering you certain terms to withdraw from your present alliances. Here is a letter from the same source, in the same handwriting, written to America. Break the seal yourself. It was brought to this country by Fischer, in the same dispatch box as yours, to be handed to some responsible person in the American Government. It was handed to Senator Theodore Hastings. It is to form part of his platform on the day when his nomination as President is announced. It must be back in his safe within three-quarters of an hour. Break the seal and read it."

The Japanese held out his hand, broke the seal of the envelope, and read. His face remained immovable. When he had finished he looked up at his visitor.

"I am permitted to take a copy?" he asked.

"Certainly!"

He touched a bell, spoke down a mouthpiece, and with almost necromantic swiftness two young men were in the room. A camera was dragged out, a little flash of light shot up to the ceiling, and the attaches vanished as quickly as they had come. The Ambassador replaced the document in its envelope, handed a stick of sealing-wax and a candle to Lutchester, who leaned over and resealed the envelope.

"The negative?" he enquired.

"Will be kept under lock and key," the Ambassador promised. "It will pass into the archives of Japanese history. In future we shall know."

Once more he touched a bell. The door was opened. Lutchester found himself escorted into the street. He was back at the Embassy in time to meet a little stream of departing guests. Lady Ridlingshawe patted him on the shoulder with her fan.

"Deserter!" she exclaimed, reproachfully, "Wherever have you been hiding?"

Lutchester made some light reply and passed on. He made his way out into the gardens. The darkness now was a little more sombre, and he had to grope his way to the palings. Soon he stood before the dark outline of the adjoining house. In the window towards which he was making his way a single candle in a silver candlestick was burning. He paused underneath and listened. Then he took a pine cone which he had picked up on his way and threw it through the open window. The candle was withdrawn. A shadowy form leaned out.

"I'm quite alone," she assured him softly. "Can you throw it in?"

He nodded.

"I think so."

His first effort was successful. The seal followed, wrapped up in his handkerchief. A moment or two later he saw Pamela's face at the window.

"Good night!" she whispered. "Quickly, please. There is still some one about downstairs."

The light was extinguished. Lutchester made his way cautiously back, replaced the gate upon its hinges and reached the shelter of the Embassy, denuded now of guests. He found Downing in the smoking-room.

"Can I get a whisky and soda?" Lutchester asked, in response to the latter's vociferous greeting.

"Call it a highball," was the prompt reply, "and you can have as many as you like. Have you earned it?" he added, a little curiously.

"I almost believe that I have," Lutchester assented.