“I think we’d better drop subterfuge. I know why you were here tonight, why Byfield was here and perhaps you know now why I am here.” “Can’t imagine, I’m sure,” said Cyril. “Perhaps you can guess, when I tell you that this party was of my own choosing--that my plans were made with a view to arranging your meeting with Captain Byfield in a place known to be above suspicion. I have been empowered to relieve you of any further responsibility in the matter in question--in short of the papers themselves.” “Oh, I say. Vanished youth, cigarette papers and all that. You’re goin’ it a bit thick, Rizzio, old boy.” Rizzio put a hand into the inside pocket of his evening coat and drew out a card-case, which he opened under Hammersley’s eyes. “Look, Hammersley,” he whispered. “Maxwell gave me this! Perhaps you understand now.” The Honorable Cyril fixed his eyeglass carefully and stared at the card-case. “By Jove,” he muttered, with sudden interest. “Now you understand?” said Rizzio. “You!” whispered Hammersley, looking at him. The languor of a moment before had fallen from him with his dropping monocle. “Yes, I. Now quick, the papers,” muttered Rizzio, putting the card-case in his pocket. “Someone may come at any moment.” For a long space of time Hammersley stood uncertainly peering down at the pattern in the rug, then he straightened and, crossing the room, put his back to the fireplace. “There may be a mistake,” he said firmly. “I can’t risk it.” Rizzio stood for a moment staring at him as though he had not heard correctly. Then he crossed over and faced the other man. “You mean that?” Hammersley put his hands in his trousers pockets. “I fancy so.” “What are you going to do?” “What I’ve been told to do.” “My orders supersede yours.” “H-m. I’m not sure.” “You can’t doubt my credentials.” “Hardly that. Er--I think I know best, that’s all.” Rizzio took a pace or two before the fireplace in front of him, his brows tangled, his fingers twitching behind his back. Then he stopped with the air of a man who has reached a decision. “You understand what this refusal means?” Hammersley shrugged. “You realize that it makes you an object of suspicion?” asked the other. “How? In doing what was expected of me?” said Hammersley easily. “You are expected to give those papers to me.” “I can’t.” Rizzio’s fine face had gone a shade paler under the glossy black of his hair and his eyes gleamed dangerously under his shaggy brows. He measured the Honorable Cyril’s six feet two against his own and then turned away. “I think I understand,” he said slowly. “Your action leaves me no other alternative.” Hammersley, his hands still deep in his pockets, seemed to be thinking deeply.