AN INTRUDER
signs of excitement than she had ever seen in him. “Don’t you realize now that every moment the things are in your possession you’re in danger—great danger? Isn’t what you’ve gone through—isn’t this”—and he indicated his arm—“the proof of it?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “But I would rather suffer injury myself than see you share the fate of Captain Byfield.”
He started. “Oh, you heard that?”
“Yes. Jack Sandys is here.” She put her face in her hands in the throes of her doubts of him and then suddenly thrust out her hands and laced her fingers around his arm.
“Oh, give it up, Cyril, for my sake give it all up. Can’t you see the terrible position you’ve placed me in? If I give these papers to Jack Sandys they’ll come and take you as they took Captain Byfield. I’ve kept them for you, because I promised. But I cannot let this information get to Germany. I would die first. What shall I do?” she wailed. “What on earth can I do?”
His reply made her gasp.
“There’s a fire,” he said quietly. “Burn ’em.”
Her fingers went to her corsage and her eyes gleamed with a new hope. She took the crumpled rice-papers out and looked at them. Then in a flash the thought came to her.
“You know the information contained in these papers?” she asked in an accent of deprecation.
“No,” he replied shortly. “I merely glanced at them.”
“You hadn’t the chance to study them?”
“No.”
Still she hesitated. “But what—what is Rizzio?”
He walked to the door of the room, opening it sud-
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