"I'll open the luggage," he said quietly. "You had better step ashore and get what you need." And, in a whisper: "Go straight to the American Ambassador and tell him everything." She whispered: "No; I beg of you go. I beg of you, Kervyn." He shook his head and they stood there together; he grave and silent, assailed by a terrible premonition; she white as death, mechanically fumbling in her reticule with slim, childish fingers. The official was deeply immersed in the passports and continued so even when Karen's tremulous fingers held the key. "Give it to me," whispered Guild. "No--" She beckoned the porter, took the satchel, and at the same moment the official looked up at her, then holding both passports, came over to where they were standing. "Your papers are in order, Mr. Guild," he said. "Now, Mrs. Guild, if you will open your satchel----" "I'll attend to that, Holden," broke in a careless voice, and the satchel was taken out of Karen's hands by a short, dark young man in uniform. "I want you to go forward and look at a gentleman for The Hague who has no papers. He's listed as Begley. Do you mind?" "Right," said Holden. "Here, Mitchell, these papers are satisfactory. Look over Mr. Guild's luggage and come forward when you're finished. What's his name? Begley?" "Yes, American. I'll be with you in a moment." Holden hastened forward; Mitchell looked after him for a moment, then calmly handed back the unopened satchel to Karen and while she held it he made a mark on it with a bit of chalk. "I pass your luggage," he said in a low voice, stooping and marking the suit-case and Guild's sack. "You have nothing to fear at Amsterdam, but there are spies on this steamer. Best go to your cabin and stay there until the boat docks." The girl bent her little head in silence; the porter resumed the luggage and piloted them aft through an ill-lighted corridor. When he came to the door of their cabin he called a steward, took his tip from Guild, touched his cap and went away. The steward opened the stateroom door for them, set the luggage on the lounge, asked if there was anything more he could do, was told that there was not, and took himself off. Guild locked the door after him, turned and looked down at the girl, who had sunk trembling upon the lounge. "What is there in that satchel?" he asked coldly. "I don't know." "_What!_" he said in a contemptuous voice. "Kervyn--my friend--I do not know," she stammered. "You _must_ know! You packed it!" "Yes. But I do not know. Can't you believe me?" "How can I? You know what you put into that satchel, don't you?" "I--put in toilet articles--night clothes--money." "What else? You put in something else, didn't you? Something that has made you horribly afraid!" "Yes." "What is it?" "Kervyn--I don't _know_ what it is. I must not know. It is a matter of honour." "If you don't know what it is you carry in that satchel you evidently suspect what it might prove to be." "Yes."