such a thing has never happened, so far as I am aware, in any
European country. My own private secretary murdered in broad
daylight and with apparent impunity!"

"Murdered--and robbed!" she whispered, looking up at him with a
white face.

The frown on the Ambassador's forehead darkened.

"Not only that," he declared, "but the secrets of which he was
robbed have gone to the one country interested in the knowledge
of them."

"You are sure of that?" she asked hoarsely.

"I am sure of it," Mr. Harvey answered.

Penelope drew a little breath between her teeth. Her thoughts
flashed back to a recent dinner party. The Prince was once more
at her side. Almost she could hear his voice--low, clear, and yet
with that note of inexpressible, convincing finality. She heard
him speak of his country reverently, almost prayerfully; of the
sacrifices which true patriotism must always demand. What had
been in his mind, she wondered, at the back of his inscrutable
eyes, gazing, even at that moment, past the banks of flowers,
across the crowded room with all its splendor of light and color,
through the walls,--whither! She brushed the thought away. It was
absurd, incredible! She was allowing herself to be led away by
her old distrust of this man.