y chance, and I had no
intention of allowing Torrence to spoil the unfolding of the conspiracy.

We were nearing a gateway where his car waited, and I saw several of the
guard hanging about at a discreet distance. "Look here, Singleton," he
said angrily, "you don't seem to take this business very seriously. You
don't want to make the mistake of letting a pretty girl pull the wool
over your eyes. If we're not careful, we're all of us likely to get into
trouble." He lowered his voice and added tensely: "Those women are under
suspicion of something more serious than an attempt to rob an estate.
An agent of the American State Department called on me yesterday and
asked embarrassing questions about Mrs. Bashford. Not a Secret Service
man, you understand, or anything of that kind, but an important man in
the State Department."

"Of course you knew nothing to tell," I suggested as he beat the walk
impatiently with his stick.

"I took a chance at lying to him about her expected arrival. I thought
it only decent to have a look at the woman first. He told me nothing
except that the British Embassy had made inquiries and that the matter
was delicate and must be handled carefully."

"Was this inquirer lame--a small dark man with a black mustache?" I
asked, suddenly interested. "Such a person has been hanging about here,
so the boys tell me?"

"Not at all! I may as well tell you it was Raynor--you probably remember
him. He's a specialist in international law, and they took him into the
State Department just after the _Lusitania_ business. He's a gentleman
and a good fellow--I've played golf with him a good deal--and I hated
to lie to him. Of course, with the whole United States back of him he
can pursue his inquiries without my help; but I thought I'd see this
woman before telling him she had reached America."

I confess that I was a trifle dismayed by this. Raynor I knew slightly.
Professionally and socially he stood high, and even without the prestige
of his official position he was not a chap to sneeze at; but I didn't
want Torrence to know I had any doubts as to the perfect authenticity of
my uncle's widow.

"Oh, every transcontinental pilgrim is probably scrutinized closely
these days," I remarked carelessly. "Mrs. Bashford has lost a brother in
the war, and I haven't heard any one talk more bitterly against Germany.
And her companion certainly has no illusions about the Kaiser. You'd
have to show me the proof to make m