"Nothing whatever--except a few nervous moments."
"Try it, Mr. Secretary, and find out!" she laughed across the levelled
revolver.
"Train your gun on Mr. Harleston and test him," the Secretary suggested,
attempting to be facetious and failing.
Mrs. Spencer might be, probably was, bluffing but he did not propose to
be the one to call it; the result was quite too uncertain. He had never
looked into the muzzle of a revolver, and he found the experience
distinctly unpleasant--she held the barrel so steady and pointed
straight at his heart. Diplomatic secrets were wanted of course, but
they were not to be purchased by the life of the Secretary of State,
nor even by an uncertain chance at it.
"Mr. Harleston's life isn't sufficiently valuable to the nation," she
replied, "I prefer to shoot you, if necessary--though I trust it won't
be necessary. What's a mere scrap of paper, without value save as a
means to detect its author, compared to the life of the greatest
American diplomat? Moreover, the letter would yield you nothing as to
its meaning nor its author. The meaning you already know, since you have
found the key-word to the cipher; so only the author remains; and as it
is typewritten you will have small, very small, prospect from it.
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