"Business first, Mr.
Harleston--and cards on the table."
"You're to play," he smiled, "and whenever you will."
Ordinarily he made up his mind very quickly as to another's sincerity,
but she puzzled him. What was the game? And if there were no game so far
as she was concerned, how did she happen to be in the very midst of it,
and trying to recover--or to obtain--the cipher letter and the
photograph? It was a queer situation? the reasonable inferences were
against her. Yet--
"I hardly know where to begin," she was saying.
"Begin at the beginning," he advised.
He must appear to credit her story that she was concerned only as an
innocent associate. And it was not difficult to do, sitting there beside
her in the subdued light, under the witching tones of her voice, and the
alluring fascination of her face. The face was not perfect; far from it,
if by perfect is meant features accordant with one another and true to
type. Her hair was flaming red; her eyes were brown, dark brown, a
certain pensiveness in them most inaccordant with the hair; her nose was
slender, with sensitive nostrils; her mouth was generous with lips a
trifle full; her teeth were exquisitely white and symmetrical--and she
showed them with due modesty, yet with proper appreciation of their
beauty.
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