who is in trouble?” Peter Ruff asked. “Why didn’t he come himself?”
“I am trying to explain,” Lady Mary protested. “This afternoon he had an important paper to turn into cipher and hand over to the Prime Minister at the Duchess of Montford’s dance to-night. The Prime Minister will arrive in a motor car from the country at about two o’clock, and the first thing he will ask for will be that paper. It has been stolen!”
“At what time did your brother finish copying it, and when did he discover its loss?” Ruff asked, with a slight air of weariness. These preliminary enquiries always bored him.
“He finished it in his own rooms at half-past seven,” Lady Mary answered. “He discovered its loss at eleven o’clock—directly he had arrived at the ball.”
“Why didn’t he come to me himself?” Peter Ruff asked. “I like to have these particulars at first hand.”
“He is in attendance upon Sir James at the ball,” Lady Mary answered. “There is trouble in the East, as you know, and Sir James is expecting dispatches to-night. Maurice is not allowed to leave.”
“Has he told Sir James yet?”
“He had not when I left,” Lady Mary answered. “If he is forced to do so, it will be ruin! Mr. Ruff, you must help us Maurice is such a dear, but a mistake like this, at the very beginning of his career, would be fatal. Here we are. That is my brother waiting just inside the hall.”
A young man came up to them in the vestibule. He was somewhat pale, but otherwise perfectly self-possessed. From the shine of his glossy black hair to the tips of his patent boots he was, in appearance, everything that a young Englishman of birth and athletic tastes could hope to be. Peter Ruff liked the look of him. He waited for no introduction, but laid his hand at once upon the young man’s shoulder.
“Between seven-thirty and arriving here,” he said, drawing him on one side—“quick! Tell me, whom did you see? What opportunities were there of stealing the paper, and by whom?”
“I finished it at five and twenty past seven,” the young man said, “sealed it in an official envelope, and stood it up on my desk by the side of my coat and hat and muffler, which my servant had laid there, ready for me to put on. My bedroom opens out from my sitting room. While I was dressing, two men called for me—Paul Jermyn and Count von Hern. They walked through to my bedroom first, and then sat together in the sitting room until I came out. The door was wide open, and we talked all the time.”
“They called accidentally?” Peter Ruff asked.
“No—by appointment,” the young man replied. “We were all coming on here to the dance, and we had agreed to dine together first at the Savoy.”
“You say that you left the paper on your desk with your coat and hat?” Peter Ruff asked. “Was it there when you came out?”
“Apparently so,” the young man answered. “It seemed to be standing in exactly the same place as where I had left it. I put it into my breast pocket, and it was only when I arrived here that I fancied the envelope seemed lighter. I went off by myself and tore it open. There was nothing inside but half a newspaper!”
“What about the envelope?” Peter Ruff asked. “That must have been the same sort of one as you had used or you would have noticed it?”
“It was,” the Honorable Maurice answered.
“It was a sort which you kept in your room?”
“Yes!” the young man admitted.
“The packet was changed, then, by some one in your room, or some one who had access to it,” Peter Ruff said. “How about your servant?”
“It was his evening off. I let him put out my things and go at seven o’clock.”
“You must tell me the nature of the contents of the packet,” Peter Ruff declared. “Don’t hesitate. You must do it. Remember the alternative.”
The young man did hesitate for several moments, but a glance into his sister’s appealing face decided him.
“It was our official reply to a secret communication from Russia respecting—a certain matter in the Balkans.”
Peter Ruff nodded.
“Where is Count von Hern?” he asked abruptly.
“Inside, dancing.”
“I must use a telephone at once,” Peter Ruff said. “Ask one of the servants here where I can find one.”
Peter Ruff was conducted to a gloomy waiting room, on the table of which stood a small telephone instrument. He closed the door, but he was absent for only a few minutes. When he rejoined Lady Mary and her brother they were talking together in agitated whispers. The latter turned towards him at once.
“Do you mean that you suspect Count von Hern?” he asked, doubtfully. “He is a friend of the Danish Minister’s, and every one says that he’s such a good chap. He doesn’t seem to take the slightest interest in politics—spends nearly all his time hunting or playing polo.”
“I don’t suspect any one,” Peter Ruff answered. “I only know that Count von Hern is an Austrian spy, and that he took your paper! Has he been out of your sight at all since you rejoined him in the sitting room? I mean to say—had he any opportunity of leaving you during the time you were dining together, or did he make any calls en route, either on the way to the Savoy or from the Savoy here?”
The young man shook his head.
“He has not been out of my sight for a second.”
“Who is the other man—Jermyn?” Peter Ruff asked. “I never heard of him.”
“An American—cousin of the Duchess. He could not have had the slightest interest in the affair.”
“Please take me into the ballroom,” Peter Ruff said to Lady Mary. “Your brother had better not come with us. I want to be as near the Count von Hern as possible.”
They passed into the crowded rooms, unnoticed, purposely avoiding the little space where the Duchess was still receiving the late comers among her guests. They found progress difficult, and Lady Mary felt her heart sink as she glanced at the little jewelled watch which hung from her wrist. Suddenly Peter Ruff came to a standstill.
“Don’t look for a moment,” he said, “but tell me as soon as you can—who is that tall young man, like a Goliath, talking to the little dark woman? You see whom I mean?”
Lady Mary nodded, and they passed on. In a moment or two she answered him.
“How strange that you should ask!” she whispered in his ear. “That is Mr. Jermyn.”
They were on the outskirts now of the ballroom itself. One of Lady Mary’s partners came up with an open programme and a face full of reproach.
“Do please forgive me, Captain Henderson,” Lady Mary begged. “I have hurt my foot, and I am not dancing any more.”
“But surely I was to take you in to supper?” the young officer protested,
