"I see," said Collins, drily, "it's a sort of moral awakening--a quickening of conscience--the kind of thing we are all so proud of displaying. Pity it didn't come before we started for this place." Vernon did not reply, only clasped and unclasped his hands nervously. Collins wheeled around upon him abruptly, his face very stern. "Come," he demanded, "let's have it out, once for all. I'm sick of this shilly-shally. Why can't you let Markeld take care of himself?" "Because you're not playing fairly." "What do you mean by fairly?" "I mean openly, honestly--as gentlemen should." "You forget that this is diplomacy--and that we don't live in the Golden Age. We fight with such weapons as come to hand. It's the game." "Yes--as you understand it. A gang of cutthroats might say the same thing." Collins flushed a little, but managed to keep his temper. "I understand it as all diplomats understand it. I take no advantage that every diplomat would not take." "Then God save me from diplomats!" retorted Vernon. Collins flushed again, more deeply, and his eyes flashed with sudden fire. "Your words verge upon the insulting," he said, after a moment. "I warn you not to try my patience too far. Perhaps, after this, you will see fit to choose other company--company more in accord with your really absurd ideals. But I would remind you of one thing--your career depends upon this affair. If it succeeds, you succeed. If it fails through any fault of yours, you are ruined. I assure you the fault will not be overlooked nor extenuated. You will pay for it!" Vernon looked at him without answering, but his glance was full of meaning. Then he turned and left the room. For a moment his companions stared after him--they had read his glance aright. "We'll have to look sharp," said Collins, at last, "or he'll cause us trouble--he's ripe for it, confound him! We'd better wire the home office to hurry things up." "Yes," agreed Blake, "there's no reasoning with a man in love." "Nor frightening him," added Collins. "I'm afraid I made a mistake taking that tack. I'll go down and get off a message." As he opened the door, he fancied that a figure melted into the shadow at the end of the hall. But his attention was distracted from it, for an instant later, he heard a step on the stair, and the Prince of Markeld mounted from the floor below, passed him with the slightest possible inclination of the head, and continued upward. Collins, staring after him, standing still as death, heard him enter the apartment of the Rushfords. He remained a moment where he was, his heart heavy with foreboding, then he descended slowly to the office, his head bent, deep in thought. So preoccupied was he that he did not see the sleek face which leered at him from the shadow into which the dim figure had vanished. The spy listened a moment intently; then, with a tread soft as a cat's, mounted the stair to the floor above. * * * * *