d; "and you'd
better have this with you also," taking a small automatic from a drawer
of his desk and handing it across. "You may have need of it; if you do,
it will be very convenient."

Harleston, descending from the taxi, found Carpenter waiting for him on
the front piazza.

"Your friend Marston is a very pleasant chap," he remarked; "also he has
a most astonishing nerve. He actually tried to bribe me for a copy of
the Clephane letter."

"How did you meet it?" Harleston asked.

"I was at a loss how to meet it--whether to be indignant and order him
out, or to be acquiescently non-committal. I chose the latter course;
and after a few preliminary feelers he came out with his offer: five
thousand dollars for liberty to make a copy of the original letter. I
thought a moment, then came back at him with the counter proposition: if
he would secure the key-word from the French Embassy, I would obtain the
letter; then together we would make the translation."

"Delightful!" Harleston applauded. "What did he say to that?"

"What could he do but accept? It was fair, and he had premised his offer
by a solemn assurance that the United States was not involved!"

"Delightful!" said Harleston again. "I reckon you've seen the last of
Marston."

"He said he would have the key-word by tomorrow night or sooner,"
Carpenter remarked.

"I suppose you parted like fellow conspirators," Harleston laughed.

"Yes; suspicious of each other and ready for anything. We were strictly
professional. Diplomatic manners and distrustful hearts."

"Do you think that Marston will try for the key-word?" Harleston asked.

"I do! He probably has it, or rather Spencer has it. Also I think he
will submit it for a test with the letter. He knows his attempt to bribe
me failed, and that the only way he can have access to the letter is to
come with the key-word. And you need not fear that I shall let him copy
the letter until after I've tested the key-word and found it correct."

"Where is the letter?" Harleston asked.

"Locked in the burglar-proof safe in my office."

"Who knows the combination?"

"Spendel, my confidential clerk."

"Trustworthy?"

"I would as soon suspect myself."

"Very good! Now, another thing: do you know Fred Snodgrass, an
ex-Captain of the Army, who lives at the Boulogne?"

"Casually," said Carpenter.

"Ever suspect him of being in the German pay?"

"No. However, he is an intimate friend of Von Swinkle, the Second
S