would wait. Oh,
that was quite useless; was it about something in the magazine; wouldn't
one of the other editors do? Without awaiting an answer, the anemic and
shrewd-faced office girl who put the questions disappeared, and
presently returned, followed by a tailor-made woman of thirty-odd, with
a delicate, secret-keeping mouth and heavy-lidded, deep-hued eyes,
altogether a seductive figure. She smiled confidently up at Banneker.

"I've always wanted so much to meet you," she disclosed, giving him a
quick, gentle hand pressure. "So has Major Bussey. Too bad he's out of
town. Did you want to see him personally?"

"Quite personally." Banneker returned her smile with one even more
friendly and confiding.

"Wouldn't I do? Come into my office, won't you? I represent him in some
things."

"Not in this one, I hope," he replied, following her to an inner room.
"It is about a paragraph not yet published, which might be
misconstrued."

"Oh, I don't think any one could possibly misconstrue it," she retorted,
with a flash of wicked mirth.

"You know the paragraph to which I refer, then."

"I wrote it."

Banneker regarded her with grave and appreciative urbanity. All was
going precisely as Ely Ives had prognosticated; the denial of the
presence of the editor; the appearance of this alluring brunette as
whipping-girl to assume the burden of his offenses with the calm
impunity of her sex and charm.

"Congratulations," he said. "It is very clever."

"It's quite true, isn't it?" she returned innocently.

"As authentic, let us say, as your authorship of the paragraph."

"You don't think I wrote it? What object should I have in trying to
deceive you?"

"What, indeed! By the way, what is Major Bussey's price?"

"Oh, Mr. Banneker!" Was it sheer delight in deviltry, or amusement at
his direct and unstrategic method that sparkled in her face. "You surely
don't credit the silly stories of--well, blackmail, about us!"

"It might be money," he reflected. "But, on the whole, I think it's
something else. Something he wants from The Patriot, perhaps. Immunity?
Would that be it? Not that I mean, necessarily, to deal."

"What is your proposition?" she asked confidentially.

"How can I advance one when I don't know what your principal wants?"

"The paragraph was written in good faith," she asserted.

"And could be withdrawn in equal good faith?"

Her laugh was silvery clear. "Very possibly. Under proper
representations."