on the bench with a sigh of relief, took a draught of the beer,
and lighted a pipe.

He was very tired, in spite of the sleep he had spoken of. With the
exception of that brief and disturbed period in the train he had not
slept for some twenty-six hours, and in addition, he had been through
sundry diverting experiences. The successful burglary had been a strain,
and after he and Beatrice had got back to the flat they had spent the
next three hours in discussing and planning. They had searched every
room, nook and cranny for some trace of Mizzi, some clew as to where she
might have flown. Of course it was useless: not a scrap of paper--not a
single compromising document rewarded their efforts. Only some blackened
ashes in the bedroom grate hinted at possibilities. She had left nearly
all her clothes and personal belongings, and her boxes were unlocked as
if to invite inspection. She had simply disappeared--gone, like one in a
melodrama, "out into the night."

It was of the utmost importance to trace her, but what could be done? It
was obvious that detectives should not be employed, for a hint of
official interference might mean the death of Lukos. Beatrice and Lionel
must do their own detection, and they spent their brains on the problem,
apparently so hopeless.

Even the cause of Mizzi's disloyalty was anything but clear. It might be
that she was in the pay of the sultan, or it might be that she wished to
be revenged. But why revenge? Beatrice, with a twinkle that made Lionel
feel qualms of conscience, suggested jealousy; but the suggestion was
thrown out in such an airy spirit that he felt she did not really
believe in it. He himself preferred to believe, and did believe, that
the more sensational hypothesis should be adopted. She must be a spy,
who meant to get a good price for the famous papers. But why had she not
stolen them before? Perhaps she had been in treaty with the enemy but
had failed to get the terms she wanted. It did not seem adequate, but it
was the only solution they could suggest.

Assuming, then, that she had stolen the papers to make money, what would
be her first step? Beatrice--and Lionel agreed with her--thought that
she was too clever to deal with underlings: she would go as near to the
fountainhead as she could, to the Turkish ambassador himself, for he was
a known adherent of the old regime. She would go as soon as possible,
the next morning--_i.e._, about the present, what time Lionel was