After all, why
should she? That was her own secret, not the country's. If she stifled
her love, and gave her best efforts to aiding the other operatives in
running down the conspirators, what more could be expected of her?
Certainly she was not going to tell any one of the sealed packet
Frederic had entrusted to her. She had promised him she would keep it
safe. Surely there could be no harm in that, yet the little parcel,
still in the bosom of her gown where she had thrust it, seemed to be
burning her flesh and searing itself into her very soul.
In strong contrast with her own spirit of martyrdom was Fleck's manner.
Never before had she seen him in such high spirits as he was when he
drew up before the subway station in a low car built for speed. On the
seat beside the chauffeur was a young man whom she recognized as another
of the operatives. As Fleck swung the door of the tonneau open for her
she noticed lying on the floor under a rug several rifles and drew back
questioningly.
"Come on, Miss Strong," he cried gaily. "Don't be afraid of them. We
may be glad we have them before we return from our hunting expedition."
"But," she asked hesitatingly as she took her seat beside him, "you
don't expect to shoot these men--without a trial."
Her heart seemed torn in anguish as she sensed anew the peril that lay
ahead for Frederic.
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