desk and placed a footstool for her.

"I should not have sent for you," he said, "but I am really and
honestly in a dilemma. Do you know that, apart from endless
cables, Washington has favored me with one hundred and forty
pages of foolscap all about the events of the week before last?"

Penelope shivered a little.

"Poor Dicky!" she murmured, looking away into the fire. "And to
think that it was I who sent him to his death!"

Mr. Harvey shook his head.

"No," he said, "I do not think that you need reproach yourself
with that. As a matter of fact, I think that I should have sent
Dicky in any case. He is not so well known as the others, or
rather he wasn't associated so closely with the Embassy, and he
was constantly at the Savoy on his own account. If I had believed
that there was any danger in the enterprise," he continued, "I
should still have sent him. He was as strong as a young Hercules.
The hand which twisted that noose around his neck must have been
the hand of a magician with fingers of steel."

Penelope shivered again. Her face showed signs of distress.

"I do not think," she said, "that I am a nervous person, but I
cannot bear to think of it even now."

"Naturally," Mr. Harvey answered. "We were all fond of Dicky, and