"That," she replied, "is as it may be. But I have not your admiration for trickery, Mr. Alcatrante." Again he smiled. "Ah," he exclaimed, "trickery is the detail work of diplomacy." Then with a shade of seriousness in his voice, he asked: "Why did you use that word 'unless'?" "Why, indeed?" She made this noncommittal answer, and if Alcatrante had hoped to soothe her into friendliness and draw from her a clue to her suspicions, he was disappointed. There was another period of silence, broken at last by the Japanese. "The fact that we have failed, my dear young lady," he said, "makes concealment unnecessary. I know, of course, that this matter will never become public. You understand that the representatives of great nations often have to take steps which, as private citizens, they would never think of." "Yes," she answered, "I understand. There is no more to be said. Good-day." There was a step and the sound of the door closing. She had gone. Alcatrante and the Japanese looked at each other. "We have not failed--yet," said Alcatrante in French. "The girl does not know where the documents are, or she would not have come here. If her father does not have them before midnight our plans are safe. We remain merely at a loss as to the details of the documents, and we already know what they contain in a general way." "Yes," agreed the Japanese, "things do not look so black, perhaps. But I am interested in your former advice." "Yes?" "Find the American! That is what _she_ will try to do." "We had an appointment with him this morning," said Alcatrante grimly, "but when you said that your man had the envelope, it no longer seemed necessary to go. We--you and I--still have the same object in view. I suggest that we now set out separately." "As you wish," said the Japanese calmly. Doubtless he knew that Alcatrante was grasping at a straw which might still give him the advantage in future negotiations. "I am honored by your co-operation thus far." He bowed formally. Alcatrante returned the bow and, beckoning to Poritol, left the room. The Japanese minister turned to Arima and talked rapidly in his native tongue. From his manner it was plain that he was giving orders. At last, with a little gesture of authority, he put on his hat and walked out. The door closed after him with a slam. Arima, now alone, seated himself in a chair and appeared to meditate. Again his hands were clasped about his knees and his beady eyes fixed on space. For fully fifteen minutes he sat thus; then, with a little clucking sound, he leaped to his feet and hurried into the next room. Now was Orme's chance. He lifted the table-cover and rose to his feet. Arima had not closed the door after him, but Orme was not in the line of direct view into the other room, and he had to risk the possibility of being seen before he reached the window.