to get them
for myself."

"I guess that's right," the guard grinned good-naturedly.

Again he went away and the prisoner sat thoughtfully sipping the milk.
He took half of it, then lighted a cigarette, puffed it once or twice
and permitted the light to die. After a little there came again the
clatter of the guard's feet on the cement pavement, and the writing
materials were thrust through the bars.

"Thank you," said the prisoner.

The guard went on, with a nod, and a moment later the signor heard the
clangor of a steel door down the corridor as it was closed and locked.
He leaned forward in his chair with half-closed eyes, listening for a
long time, then rose and noiselessly approached the cell door. Again he
listened intently, after which he resumed his seat. He tossed away the
cigarette he had and lighted a fresh one, afterward holding the note
over the flame of the match. Here and there, where the paper charred in
the heat, a letter or word stood out from the bare whiteness of the
paper, and finally, a message complete appeared between the innocuous
ink-written lines. The prisoner read it greedily:

"Am privately informed there is little chance of Alvarez's recovery.
Shall I arrange escape for you, or have ambassador intercede? Would
advise former, as the other might take months, and meeting to sign
treaty alliance would be dangerously delayed."

Signor Petrozinni permitted the sputtering flame to ignite the paper,
and thoughtfully watched the blaze destroy it. The last tiny scrap
dropped on the floor, burned out, and he crushed the ashes under his
heel. Then he began to write:

"My Dear Miss Thorne:

"Many thanks for your courteous little note. I am delighted to know of
the improvement in Senor Alvarez's condition. I had hoped that my
impulsive act in shooting him would not end in a tragedy. Please keep me
informed of any further change in his condition. As yet I do not see the
necessity of consulting an attorney, but later I may be compelled to do
so.

"Respectfully,

"Pietro Petrozinni."

This done the secret agent carefully cleaned the ink from the pen,
wiping it dry with his handkerchief, then thrust it into the half empty
glass of milk. The fluid clung to the steel nib thinly; he went on
writing with it, between the lines of ink:

"I am in no danger. I hold credentials to United States, which, when
presented, will make me responsible only to the Italian government as
special envoy, according