 Chapter 13 of the Yellow Dove by George Gibbs. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tony Oliva. THE UNWILLING GUEST After the light of dawn went out upon the cliffs of Ruga Moor, Doris Mather hung for a long while upon the brink of an abyss. Below her darkness, above her, light. She strove upward, but in the dim moments of half-consciousness, was aware of a force restraining her, and a recurrence of the odour in which the darkness had first come. She had a sense of motion, and of jolting, the feeling of arms about her, a descent, the sound of water, and the rocking of a boat, brief glimpses she had of sunlight, which revealed outlines dimly, like the glow of summer lightning upon familiar objects, making them curiously unfamiliar. John Ritcio's face persisted in these visions, a fantastic Ritcio, much larger than the man she knew, deferential and punctilious as ever, and strangely grave. A stout man with a swarly face and a cap and brass buttons just above her, darkly outlined against white clouds, which seemed to be whirling rapidly past him. Dolly, she found herself wondering where the clouds were going so rapidly, and why they didn't come back. Later, darkness and peace, where there were no visions, and the sky no longer whirled. A steady vibration which soothed her, and she blissfully slept. When she awoke, the visions were gone, and as her senses returned, she started up, but her head swam, and she sank back again. As she had risen, a woman emerged from the shadows of the room, and came forward, and then slowly as full consciousness returned, the girl realized that she was on an ocean-going vessel in a cabin or stateroom, very beautifully appointed. She started up in her bed and looked out of the porthole to see the amber crests of waves leaping rapidly past, then she heard the woman's voice speaking. You are feeling better? Doris turned and looked at her, a woman of middle age, with a kindly face, dressed in white linen. What yacht is this? She asked. The silph, Miss. Mr. Ritzios, she replied. Doris thought for a moment. The last thing her waking consciousness remembered were the cliffs of Ruda Moor. How did I come here? She asked again. The woman shook her head. I don't know, Miss. Her manner was kind and most respectful, but her tone was decisive. She was obeying instructions. Is Mr. Ritzios aboard? Doris asked again. Yes, Miss. And he asked me to tell you that when you felt sufficiently recovered, he would be glad to wait upon you in the saloon. Oh, I understand. When Doris rose and put her feet to the swaying deck, Nazia overcame her, but the woman who was prepared for this emergency offered a glass filled with cloudy liquid. Drink this, she said. It will make you feel better. Doris looked into the woman's face, and, recognizing the aromatic odor, took the draft. The Nazia passed after a moment, and she managed to get up and make her way to the bathroom. As she bathed her face, memory returned full memory of the events of the previous night, the scene upon the cliffs with Cyril, the destroyer, Ritzio, striker, Ruda Moore, the yellow dove, and then unconsciousness. Chloriform. There were the vestiges of it upon her clothing still. They had drugged her. When she took off her shirt waist, something fell to the floor. A paper. She picked it up and looked at it. It was Ritzio's note to her at Kilmora Chaos, asking her to come to Ben Acuilt, so that he might make her prisoner. She remembered now that she had thrust it into her waist when she went out. She folded the letter carefully and put it in her stays. After the other indignity she had suffered, it seemed strange that they had not searched her too. She would keep the letter. Perhaps later she would find use for it. John Ritzio. It was difficult for her mind to associate him with the villainy of abduction. And yet, as her brain grew clearer, she became quite sure that there was no other answer to the problem. Indeed, from the replies of the stewardess, she knew that John Ritzio had chosen that she should know it was to be a problem no longer. The sylph. That was his yacht. She had been on the boat before. Two years ago, during the races in the Solent. Abduction. He had dared. She was not frightened yet. Fury at his temerity blinded her to all sense of danger. A phrase of Cyril's came back to her, illuminating the chaos of her thoughts. You know too much, too much for your own good. Or mine, Cyril's cigarette papers. She was the only one beside Cyril, who had read their contents. Ritzio had carried her off, had brought her to the sylph, which was out of sight of land, speeding for Germany. What was he going to do with her? Fury passed, and weakness followed. She did not know what time of day it was, but she was aware that it had been long since she had eaten. In the cabin she found a tray set with food and coffee, which the stewardess insisted upon serving her. She sank into an armchair, refusing to eat. But the woman persisted, and the odor of the coffee was tempting. It was luncheon, she found, and remembered that she had had no appetite for dinner at Lady Heathcoats, and that it must be quite 24 hours since she had broken bread. The coffee gave her courage, and in spite of herself she found that she was eating heartily with a genuine relish. She was a good sailor, and the nausea which she now knew was the effect of the drug had passed. The stewardess stood beside her, and to the other questions Doris put to her, answered politely, but volunteered nothing further than she had already told. In spite of the woman's care and attention, the girl could not get rid of the idea that the stewardess had been sent as a guardian, as well as a maid. She was a prisoner of John Rizio, of Germany, whether he was bringing her as fast as the yacht could take them. Finding at last that her attempts to extract information from her stolid servitress were fruitless, and feeling strengthened by the food she had taken, she got up and told the woman that she was going on deck, asking that Mr. Rizio be informed that she would see him. As she emerged upon the deck, the crisp wintry air sent the color slowly into her pallid cheeks. The yacht was bowling along with the wind and sea, quartering, and the foam crests leaped alongside, sending an occasional spur to spray into the air, where the wind caught it and blew it across the decks in a feathery mist of rainbows. The sunlight glented on polished wood and brass work, and at the stern, caught in the cross of St. George, where the flag of England flapped in the breeze, the flag of England sheltering John Rizio. She scanned the horizon anxiously. Perhaps an English cruiser or destroyer might come to whom she might be able to tell the real character of the owner of the vessel, but there was no vessel in sight. A sailor passed her and touched his cap. The deference encouraged her. It reminded her that this was the same deck upon which she had stood when John Rizio was suing for her hand, an honorable host when she had been an honored guest. A loud crackling came to her ears from the wireless room. He was there, already in communication with his employers in Germany. Even now, with Cyril's words still ringing in her ears, she found it difficult to believe that John Rizio was England's enemy, and the price of his treachery, a picture. The descent from the cross. What a mockery that a man who would stoop to such dishonor could make its price a picture which typified the conquest of sublime virtue even over death. The wind was searching, and the maid brought a heavy coat with brass buttons from below, and put it on her with the word that Mr. Rizio had sent it, and would come to her in a few moments. She sat in a deck chair in the lee of the deck house, her lips firmly compressed, trying to think what his ulterior purpose might be, planning a defense which might make her invulnerable, an attack which might search his intentions, and discover the true relation that was to exist between them. He came toward her from forward, muffled in a great coat, and carrying a rug, he took off his cap with an air of deference, which answered at once some of her questions. She rose and faced him, her color high. What are you going to do with me? She asked, trying to keep her lips from trembling. He smiled and pulled at his mustache. Fest, I hope you'll give me a chance to explain. What? she cried hotly. What can you explain? Don't you suppose I know what you are? A German spy, a traitor to England, and worse than that, a woman bait her and a coward, Mr. Ritzio, he bent his head. I make no defense, he said, except necessity, and then gravely indicating the chair from which she had risen. Won't you sit down? The voyage may be long, but she still stood. I am a prisoner, not a guest. Then I command you to sit, he said with a laugh. Won't you? A sound of exasperation came from her throat, and she obeyed him, her gaze on the sea, while with some ostentation he covered her with a rug. What are you going to do with me in Germany? She repeated dolly. He sank into the chair beside her. As I have often told you, you are a woman of rare intelligence. In reply, I can only say that unfortunately, I do not know. A coward, who was also a liar, she said bitterly. A coward is usually a liar, but a liar isn't always a coward. I am a liar, Dors, if you will, but a courageous one. My name is Mather, she said distinctly. He shrugged and turned his gaze on the sea. You hate me, of course. We are enemies. I am sorry. I warned you that you were entangled in an affair that was leading you into dangerous paths. I would have saved you, if I could, but you had learned too much. And so you had me chloroformed. It was a pity that you didn't complete your work. I merely did what was required of me. Through a most unfortunate combination of circumstances, you came into possession of a secret known to but one person in England. And you are the only person with English sympathies who knows my exact political status. A spy, contentiously. What you will, a spy, if you like, but a strong friend of Germany, who resents an attempt by a nation jealous of her growing commercial supremacy to wipe her out of existence. I have lived in England long. And I have known many of the men who have made her what she is. But never in all those years has England ever given me one token of the high nobility she preaches. I have passed for many years as an Englishman. I am not English. I am cosmopolitan. And to a cosmopolitan residence is but an accident. Praise spare me the details of your treachery. He laughed easily. I am afraid you are at my mercy. I shall try to be lenient. You are an American. I am an Italian. To call me a traitor to England, because I happen to have a liking for Germany, would be much like my calling you a traitor to Germany, because you happen to have a liking for England. I have never eaten the bread and salt of Germany, or wormed my way into the hearts of its people. I am sure you flatter me. The people of my sat in London are agreeable, but Doris had straightened in the act of rising. I did not come on deck to discuss your ideals or Germanies. I hope that you will excuse. You will not listen? No. I care nothing for your political views. I am your prisoner. I want to know, without further words, the words that I am to expect from you. You have been upon the silt before. What was proper for you then is proper for you now. You are quite safe in my hands. I shall try to make you comfortable. Does that answer your question? And after? You are to be delivered to the head of the Secret Service Department of the German Empire, the girl paled and sank back into her chair. Why, she asked, because you are in possession of information that he wants. What information? It isn't true. I know nothing. I am sorry, he apologized again. The cigarette papers, you read them. No, no. You forget that you have already admitted that. You have also read the second message, which was to take the place of the first. You are dreaming, a second message? I know nothing of a second message. Pardon me if I remind you of it. You would have burned it in the drawing room at Kilmora-Kaus if Mr. Hammersley hadn't taken it from your hand. She stared at him bewildered at his astounding omniscience, his devilish ingenuity. It frightened her, his cleverness and his pursuit of her. It seemed that she had never had a chance to get away from him. And yet his manner was so carefully studied, his attitude toward her so coldly impersonal that as a man once a lover, she no longer feared him. If love of her had ever been in his heart, a greater passion had burned it out. She was grateful for this, and prepared to measure her woman's wit to his, thinking of Cyril. What would Cyril have her do? You mean that you will let them, the Germans, question me if they wish to do so? But how will it benefit them, if the papers are already in their possession? You will forgive me if I find it possible to doubt. She turned away from him and studied the lines of foam that streamed across the green troughs of the sea. I suppose that conversation between us, too, is superfluous. You distrust me and I? I think perhaps, he said gravely, that it would be pleasanter for both of us not to hear your sentiments toward me. Since the night of Lady Heathcote's dinner in London, you cease to be Miss Doris Mather, and became merely an official document. It is my duty to preserve it and deliver it safely. I hope you may succeed, otherwise the American ambassador in Berlin may, unfortunately, he went on quietly, the American ambassador cannot be informed. She laughed with a greater confidence than she felt. You surely can't believe that my absence from England will pass unnoticed. Do you think that my father, that Lady Heathcote, she paused bewildered? They will merely know that you rode late at night to been acute and that your horse was found riderless on the moor. She buried her face in her hands and a sob broke from her throat. It was true. They would think her dead. For the first time, she really was able to think of things in their true aspect. It's cruel, she gasped. How could you? He was too wise to touch her, or even by his manner to show too deep a sympathy. I am sorry, he said coolly, awfully sorry. As you know, I would have had things different. You may still doubt me when I say that what I have done is the hardest task that I ever undertook in my life. But that is true. You were the only person in England who jeopardized my existence there. I had to take you away. I regret the necessity of having to use force. I shall do what I can here upon the self to counteract the unpleasant impression of my brutality. I am not a bully and a woman beta. I am a spoke in the wheel of destiny which you had clogged. By all the rules of the game, you should have died. Reasons which I need not mention made your death at my hands an impossibility. So, I merely removed you to a place of safety. No harm shall come to you. I pledge my honor. Thanks, she said dolly, struggling up her face away from him. And then dauntlessly, small thing as it is, I must be content with that. She had risen and turned. And now, if you don't mind, I will go below. I would prefer to be alone. If, as you protest, you would do me kindness, you will not ask to see me. He bowed. I have given instructions that you shall be allowed to do as you please. Mrs. Madden will finish you with all that you require, both I think of linen and toilet articles. I shall not try to see you again until we land. She bowed her head and went down. Ritzio watched her until she disappeared, and then walked over to the rail and peered out over the sea. It had taken some self-command to go through this interview, as he had planned it, and in conquering himself, he had succeeded in establishing a relation between them, which made his presence at least bearable to her. The impersonal tone which he had used through the interview was the one most calculated to put her at her ease with him, and the perfect frankness of his confession had made her understand at once that sentimentality, at least, she had nothing to fear from him. John Ritzio was wise in the ways of women, and the particular woman now thrown upon his mercy, even though she was the one woman in the world he had thought the most desirable, was to be treated with the delicate consideration due to her unfortunate dependence upon him. A flash of sentiment, a breath of revelation of his ultimate purposes toward her, and the woman would be lost to him. Her misfortunes, if anything, had made her more desirable than ever, especially since he had been the cause of them. For one mad moment he had thought this morning of turning the silt toward the waters of the South Atlantic, forgetting the quarrels of the nations in which she had become involved, and of seeking a new world where he could begin again, trusting to time and opportunity, and his own patience intact, to bring a sentimental victory out of what had already been defeat. A mad moment, but a tempting one, but the time was not yet. He must be patient. With hamsly gone, he straightened and slowly strolled forward to the wireless room. Toward evening he was given confirmation of the wisdom of his course, for as he was pacing the deck aft, she came up from below and joined him. She was looking rather white, but she smiled at him brightly, and matched her steps to his. I was lonely below, she said. You don't mind? He had never thought her love layer, her face, if anything, had always needed just those shadows of pain to make it perfect. I hadn't hoped for such a kindness. You are feeling better? Yes, thanks, and since we must meet, I'm willing to try to be friendly. I'm sure you'll find that I'll meet you more than halfway. He said politely. They talked far into the evening, and at her request they dined together in the saloon. He was reserved, but not cautious, and when the evening was over, remembered hazily that she had succeeded in learning something from him of General von Stromberg, the head of the German Secret Service Department, of the aviation field at Windenberg, and of the frequent flights of the Yellow Dove since the beginning of the winter. The next morning passed quietly. Doris did not appear until noon, but just before luncheon, a smudge of smoke appeared upon the horizon, which rapidly grew larger, and in a little while she made out the lines of a war vessel, steaming in a direction which would intercept the yacht. The silt did not slow down until a solid shot from a gun in the folk-soul of the destroyer went ricocheting across her bowels when the engine was stopped, and John Rizzio made slowly aft to where she stood. Miss Martha, he said briefly, I must ask you to go below to your cabin at once. A glance at his face showed that her protests would have been useless, and she went below to her own stateroom, the door of which was locked upon her. Through the heavy glass of her porthole she saw the vessel approach until within hailing distance, when a boat dropped from her side, into which a boat's crew and an officer clambered and rode alongside. The vessel bore no flag, but the girl clearly heard the hail of the boarding officer, and realized that the destroyer was an English vessel. Her hopes rose. Perhaps even now the Englishman would find something irregular in the yacht's papers, and would take charge, conveying her back to England. She waited for a long time, and then heard the clatter of oars, and saw the boat push off from the side of the yacht, while the officer, young, slender and wind-burned, stood up in the stern sheets of his boat. All right, she heard him say, Sorry to have troubled you. Pleasant voyage! Goodbye! Never had English sounded so good to her, but it was with a sigh of despair that she saw the boat reach the side of the war vessel, and felt the steadily increasing rhythm of the engines of the yacht, as she drove once more upon her way. When the two vessels were at a distance from each other, the key turned in the lock of the door, and in reply to a knock, she found John Ritzio himself standing, hat in hand, in the gangway. I seem to be in a continual state of apology, but of course you realize the necessity for my action. I am in your power, she said helplessly. I hope you will believe that I shall not abuse it. She shrugged her shoulders and followed him to luncheon, managing to preserve at table the cheerfulness which she was far from feeling. Throughout the morning she had been thinking hard, and the only course that was open to her, if her courage did not fail, was the one that she was following. If she was to be able, in any way to help Cyril, she must try to learn what she could, accept the situation with good grace, and, perhaps by some turn of good fortune, find a way to disarm John Ritzio, and profit by an inadvertence or mistake. But as the second day wore on, she found her task increasingly difficult. At luncheon Mr. Ritzio was more reserved, and during the afternoon as they approached waters in which German warships were more likely to be found, he spent much time in the wireless room, where a repetition of the crackling noises advised her that he was again in communication with the land of her enemies. After dinner, at which Ritzio had been very quiet, he requested politely that she go at once to her cabin, which she did, to hear the sound of the key again turned in the lock of her door. Despair came over her, and at last she cried herself to sleep. Awakening during the night at the glare of a searchlight, which pierced her window-port, she got up and looked out to see a dark bulk looming alongside the flashing of lanterns, and heard the sound of voices speaking German. At last all was quiet again, and the steady hammer of the vessel's propeller told her that the silt was again on her way. She must have slept again, for the silver of dawn was already modifying the gloom of her cabin, when there was a knock upon her door, and she rose, the stewardess fully dressed was outside. Mr. Ritzio asked me to request you to please dress at once, as breakfast will be served in half an hour. She obeyed blindly, aware that there was no motion to the deck of her cabin, and that the silt was now riding on an even kill. She verified her guess at the nearness of their destination, by a glance through the porthole, which showed her that the vessel had reached the quieter waters of a bay, or river, in which she slipped smoothly onward. There were vessels at anchor, large and small, and beyond them she made out the lines of a shore, upon which, at intervals, buildings loomed. Mrs. Madden, the stewardess, would not talk, and it was not until she reached the breakfast table that Doris learned where they were. We shall reach Bremen shortly, said Ritzio. I do not know how you feel about the matter, but I would suggest that it would save you much trouble and anxiety to trust yourself entirely. I know of nothing else, she said quietly. What are you going to do? I shall confer with certain officials when we reach the city, which will be in a few moments. After that, we will take the seven o'clock train for Vindenberg. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 of The Yellow Dove by George Gibbs To the girl, the way from Bremen to Vindenberg, seemed interminable. She shared with John Ritzio a private compartment in the train. He was still ceremoniously polite and inclined to conversation, but now, thoroughly realizing the danger which faced her, as well as Cyril, Doris had decided upon a policy of silence. She would wait until she learned what they required of her, and then perhaps some instinct or inspiration would direct her. Of one thing she was certain, that nothing could make her speak if she did not think it wise to do so. When Ritzio commented upon the beauty of the passing landscape, she assented with a smile and then returned to her own thoughts. Cyril, she knew, would be at Vindenberg, for it was to Vindenberg that the Yellow Dove had made its flights. She had succeeded in eliciting that much information from her captor the other night at dinner, when he was attempting by frankness and hospitality to minimize the brutality of his actions. She had many reasons to believe that he had already regretted that frankness, for at every subsequent attempt of hers to get more information about von Stromberg, John Ritzio had turned the subject adroitly, or had remained obstinately silent. She tried to put together the scraps of information she possessed, in order to understand just what Cyril's position at Vindenberg might be. He had answered the summons of the secret messenger willingly and at once. That much was in his favor. If they had suspected him before, this immediate obedience must have disarmed them. In the mind of General von Stromberg, there could be no possible reason why Cyril should put himself at his mercy. General von Stromberg could not know, as she knew, that Cyril had another mission to perform. She looked up quickly to find John Ritzio's dark eyes gazing at her. He frightened her at that moment, for it almost seemed from the expression of his face that he had succeeded in reading her thoughts. And in the light of his previous omniscience, even that psychic feat seemed within the realm of possibility, but he merely smiled at her and looked out of the window. That mission of Cyril's, what was it, the obtaining of some information necessary to England? Some military secret, such as the machinery of ordinance or the chemical mixture of explosive shells? Or was it something more personal, more sinister and dreadful, the death of some high official, perhaps the emperor himself? She shuddered and shut her eyes, her mind painting unimaginable horrors, not murder, even for Cyril she could not connive at that. But she must be prepared to do something for him, to help him, if she could by false testimony or, if necessary, no matter what they did to her, by silence. If they suspected Cyril, of course, he would be kept in ignorance of her arrival, of all these things and others she thought with ever-growing doubt and timidity, and all the while in the back of her head was the idea of her possible appeal to the American ambassador at Berlin. But if she had any hopes that an opportunity would be given her to use the post or even to be free from surveillance, their arrival at Windenberg speedily diminished them. For upon the platform of the small station, a German officer met them and conducted them at once to a closed carriage, which started off through the village immediately. The officer and Mr. Ritzio exchanged a few common places, which politely included her, but as to the real meaning of her visit and their possible intentions, nothing. So she sank back in her seat and looked out through a small window at the forest into which the road almost immediately passed, reaching their destination in apparent calmness, the high tension of her nerves resolutely schooled to obedience. A farmhouse in the midst of meadows surrounded by forests, with a broad hospitable door in which they entered, seeing no one. The German officer, who directed them, showed her the way to a room upstairs, and when she was in the room, locked the door. She was in the dark, for the shutters of the windows were closed. Her first impulse at reaching a haven of privacy, even though a prison, was to seek the line of least resistance and give her nerves the relaxation they needed in tears. But she fought the weakness down, going to the windows and peering out through a crack in the shutters. When she tried to open them, she discovered that they were locked or nailed from the outside. She had been a prisoner she knew upon the yacht, but the firmness with which the hard wood and iron resisted her efforts gave her for the first time the grim reality of her predicament, a prisoner in the heart of a German forest, with no way to turn for help. Where was Cyril? Perhaps after all, her surmises had been incorrect. They had sent him away to Berlin, or perhaps he had gone back. In freedom to England, grave fears assailed her as to Ritcio and his intentions. Once a friend, but after that an unsuccessful lover. What did she know of him or of these people into whose hands he was committing her? Germans. She was ready to believe anything of them, after Belgium, the worst. Had Ritcio's story about bringing her to the head of the Secret Service of Germany been a mere invention to serve other ends, he had told her at Kilmora Chaos that he would never give her up. Was this what he had meant? A blind terror seized her, which seemed for a moment to deaden all her faculties for analysis. The room, though chill, seemed to stifle her. Its walls and ceiling to be closing in to crush her. She stumbled to the bed upon which she fell, and lay for a long while exhausted, and at last the blessing of tears came to her, and then sleep. How long, Doris slept, she did not know, but she realized that it could not have been long, for strange ugly figures came into her dreams, and strange ugly events followed each other with lightning swiftness. But a knock upon the door brought her back to the terrors of her predicament, and she answered it, wondering what was to happen. It was a tall man, in the Jäger uniform, bearing a tray of food, some toast, eggs, and a cup of chocolate. He entered with a smile and a polite greeting in German, putting the tray upon the table, and then forcing open the shutters a little, so that a narrow bar of sunlight came into the room, and lay upon the bright drug it upon the floor. By its light she examined the man. He was tall, grizzled at the temples, and walked with a slight limp. He smiled at her again, and she could not refrain from answering the smile in kind. I hope the Froylein will enjoy her lunch, he said, the toast especially, for I have made it myself. I trust that the Froylein prefers dry toast. Thanks, anything will do. I am not hungry. I am sorry, said the forester, bowing and then continuing in a lower tone. The Froylein will not forget that the toast is excellent, and that I made it myself. She examined him curiously, wondering whether he were not perhaps a little demented, but at the door he bowed and disappeared, and she heard the key turning the lock. He was apparently not too demented to forget that she was a prisoner. She was not hungry, but she knew that she must eat something to keep up her strength for any ordeal that was in store for her, so she drew a chair to the table and sat, pouring out the chocolate in the cup and helping herself to the eggs. All the while she thought of the strange behavior of her servitor. Why did he lay such stress upon the excellence of the dry toast, and why because it was dry? She raised a piece of it with her fingers and examined it, lifted the second piece, when a gasp of surprise escaped her. Above the third piece of toast, folded neatly, was a thin strip of paper. She glanced toward the door and window, and then getting up from the table and going to a spot where observation of her actions was impossible, opened the slip of paper. It was in Cyril's hand. Don't be frightened, she read. You are to be questioned. Follow these instructions. I made a copy of Message in Heathcote Library, Night of Dinner, while waiting for you to get wraps. I hid it in right sash of motor. Copy and original of Message the same. You and I are enemies, therefore ignore me. Ritcio acted for Scotland's yard, as to the rest tell truth exactly, and Nohan can come to me. I will find means later to communicate, better than this immediately. Her heart beating high, she read the paper through twice to familiarize herself with the instructions, which she perfectly understood. Then she found a matchbox on the candlestick, put the paper in the hearth, and burned it. After that she sat at the table and ate. It was there that Captain von Winden found her some moments later, when he came to request her presence in the room on the ground floor. During the time that Doris slept, in the living room downstairs, General von Stromberg sat with John Ritcio. A peaceful winter landscape looked in at the windows. The sun slanted in a yellow rhomboid upon the floor. A cheerful fire was burning upon the hearth, and General von Stromberg, his left hand tapping gently upon the back of his right, was greatly listening to John Ritcio's story. All of the pieces of the little game were upon the board. He was now about to move them skillfully from one square to another, until only one piece remained, and that one piece, the victor in all such games, was himself. And what was his manner, went on von Stromberg. When you showed your credentials, he was surprised, very much surprised, and I think alarmed. And what arguments did you use to make him give the packet up? I threatened him with serious consequences, which meant me, said von Stromberg grimly. Yes, excellence, but he refused without other grounds than his own judgment. And then, excellence, Froylein Mather came in. She had something from behind the curtain, but she gave no sign. Oh, she is clever, exceptionally so. I have brought her here of my own volition, and she will speak if properly approached, but I hope excellence will be pleased to make the interview as easy for her as possible, if any harm should come to her. It is not the practice of my department to do her to any woman, said the General quickly. Then he laughed, I suspect her Lizio, that you have a tenderness in that quarter. It is true. I hope, therefore, that you will be patient with her. Von Stromberg waved his hand impatiently. And what happened then? Hammersley and Miss Mather went out. I remained in the smoking room, and then telephoned to Maxwell to send his men at once. They came, I met them outside the house before Hammersley emerged, and gave them my instructions to follow Hammersley's machine, and got the papers. The old man started forward, his long acquisitive nose eagerly sent in a clue. And how long was it after they left the smoking room for the machine? Rizio pulled at his moustache a moment, thoughtfully. I could not say exactly, he said after a time, a matter of half an hour, perhaps. Did you know what Herr Hammersley was doing in the meanwhile? No, I could not say. I telephoned fast and then went out. The guests were all in the drawing room. Did you go up to the library? Rizio showed surprise. No, excellence. Are you sure that Herr Hammersley was in the drawing room with the others when you went out? Yes, excellence. I am sure of it. There was no reason for him to be anywhere else. There was no chance of his going upstairs to the library for ten, fifteen minutes without your seeing him. Rizio straightened and pulled at his moustache. Excellence, I think I understand the object of your questions. It is not possible that Herr Hammersley could have made a copy of the papers at Lady Heathcote's house. Von Stromberg paused a moment, then he asked, how long after you left the door of the house, before he came out with the lady? Scarcely more than ten minutes. The General's fingers tapped more rapidly. Oh, he growled. I see. And then tell me how the matter was arranged that Captain Byfield should deliver those papers. Maxwell managed it through a cipher. The War Office had grown suspicious, and all the usual channels were closed. Byfield was frightened and refused to deliver further messages. So Maxwell hit upon the scheme of the cigarette papers to be delivered to Hammersley. I could not receive them from Byfield because of your instructions not to let my interests be known to anyone in England. But Maxwell, you thought the time was not ripe for me to play my coup? Yes, said Von Stromberg dryly. But the time is ripe now, and you are not there to play it. But this affair was of such importance. Yes, yes. The General broke in quickly. Go on. It was the day of an anniversary always celebrated for me by Lady Heathcote, whose house, as you know, is one of the most exclusive in England. And above suspicion I invited the guests, and Maxwell communicated with Hammersley, arranging the manner of the exchange which was accomplished. My demand upon Hammersley was made in accordance with your orders. It was a test of his loyalty. He failed. Do you think he had an opportunity to glance at the papers? I mean, between the time he received them and the time of your demand of him. Yes, he started them for a moment behind the curtains of an alcove in the drawing room. I was watching. I saw his shadow as he bent over to the light of the lamp. By that you mean he had a hope that they might be spurious? Yes, excellence. When it was discovered that there was a leak, false orders were issued to test the different departments of the War Office. And then Maxwell's men followed him, and when he was on the point of capture, he turned the papers over to the Lady, who escaped through the hedge. As I have said before, excellence, the Lady is clever. She read the papers, but her loyalty to Hammersley kept her silent, though at that time she suspected that he was a German agent. I see, said von Stromberg, manifesting a sudden activity with his fingers. The Lady is interested in her harmlessly. Yes, excellence. More interested in him, perhaps, than she is in you? Ritzio bowed in silence. Good, said von Stromberg, rising. That, perhaps, makes matters more amusing for us. Perhaps a little more amusing for Herr Hammersley. He paced the floor with long strides while Ritzio watched him until he stopped before the fire and spoke again. Herr Ritzio, you have told me about the events in Scotland when, as you say, Hammersley, acting as an Englishman, warned the Lady against you as an agent of Germany. What I would like very much to know is why, when you were sure he was acting for England, you did not have him killed at once. I tried, excellence, but he was too well prepared for me. My men shot at him on the road and wounded him slightly, but on the cliffs at Ben Acute he had a Confederate who killed one of my men. The other, as I have related, fell over the cliffs. But you, put in the officer harshly, what were you doing all the while? I shot at him and missed. That was unfortunate. From our point of view, it is not the custom of agents of my department to miss at anything, Herr Ritzio. But, since Hammersley is here, the damage, if damage there is, can be repaired. What did you do after that? I had reason to suspect that Hammersley was the cause of the arrest of Captain Byfield. I had also reason to suspect that he had informed or would inform the War Office as to my connection with Germany. Accordingly, I had made arrangements to have my boat within easy reaching distance have been acute. With the help of two other men who had been set to watch the roads in case of surprises, I kept watch on Hammersley. Miss Mather was lost in the darkness of the Moor. This was unfortunate, as I had planned to take her, too. But we followed Hammersley on horses to Ruda Moor, to be sure that he would obey your summons and fortunate us. For Doris Mather had followed him, too, and we managed to take her without difficulty, and brought her aboard the yacht. Hammersley's departure for Germany, of course, relieved me of all responsibility on his behalf. Von Stromberg paused before the fireplace his brows puckering. On the whole, Herritzio, you have done well. I shall not complain. But if your story is true, I should like you to tell me two things. The first is, why should Herr Hammersley return to Germany to face certain death at my hands? Ritzio shrugged his fine shoulders. Excellence, I do not know. I did not think he would come when I sent you my request to summon him. The knowledge he possessed was dangerous to me, and I had made every possible plan to kill him at Ruda Moor. Nothing that could have happened surprised me more than when I saw him fly out in obedience to your message. It has puzzled me. I do not know why he came, unless it was to learn something in Germany and return to England. Von Stromberg gave a dry chuckle. The supposition does not flatter his intelligence or mine, aside from the difficulties of his position at present. If he were seeking information as to the plans of the Empire, he would have about as much chance of getting away from here alive as you would have, Herr Ritzio, in the same circumstances. The old man towered to his full height and brought his huge fist down with a crash upon the table, which startled Ritzio, who fingered his mustache, his face, a shade paler. I am glad, excellence, he said with a laugh, that I am not in Hammersley's shoes. Disregarding Ritzio's comment, the old man paced the floor again, storming. The other question that I would like to ask you is, what has become of Herr Maxwell? Ritzio started up, now in genuine concern. Have you not heard from him, excellence? No, roared the other. Why, haven't I? You should know. I do not know. I saw him the day I left London for Scotland. He was fully informed of all that had happened. Could it be that Ritzio paused with a deep frown? Where is he? Why, has he not reported? Could anything have happened to him? What were you thinking? That Hammersley, perhaps, but that could hardly be, since he always moved under cover. De liba, ye zoo, speak out, will you? I thought that Hammersley might have been the cause of his arrest. Oh, you think that? Why? Because it was Hammersley who told the War Office of Bifield. What proof have you of that? No one knew of Bifield's connection with us but Hammersley, Maxwell, and myself. Those were my orders. How do I know that they were obeyed? One doesn't disobey orders, excellence, with one's head in a noose. Hmm, there are many necks in nooses at Wiendenberg, and one of the nooses will be tightened. He had stopped before Ritzio and was scowling at him with eyes that shot malevolence. Ritzio knew something of von Stromberg's methods and was sure that he was merely trying to intimidate him, to reduce him to consistency, which would reveal hidden weaknesses in texture. Yet, knowing this, Ritzio felt most uncomfortable. He twirled his mustache and looked out of the window, but his glance came back to von Stromberg's eyes, which never wavered or changed in intensity, as though under the influence of some strange hypnotic attraction. You know, of course, the old man's harsh voice snapped at him. What Hammersley accuses you of? I can imagine, excellence. He says that you have been acting for the English government. Ritzio started up an alarm. You do not for a moment believe. Don't get excited. I believe nothing, which I do not wish to believe, but he tells a very pretty story. Herr Ritzio. He would, said Ritzio easily. I will do him the credit of saying that he is skillful, but a lie will discover itself in the end. Exactly. I am glad you agree with me. What I now propose to do is to set the lie in motion. The easiest way to provoke a liar is to put him upon the defensive. You and Hammersley shall debate the matter. I shall be the judge of the debate. We shall see what we shall see. He strode to the table and was about to touch the bell when Ritzio broke in. One moment, excellence. I should like to know on what he bases his accusation. Not weakening, Ritzio? Hardly, excellence. The other smiled. It will not be difficult for me to verify my statements if Hammersley will only talk. You need not fear. He will talk. What I wanted to know, excellence, was the nature of the information received in the yellow packet. Would you permit? Not yet, Herr Ritzio. Not yet. The contents of the message will come in time. For the present there is quite enough to occupy Herr Hammersley's mind and yours. Ritzio shrugged. As you please. I would like to know, however, before you summon him, whether his accusation is based on my attempt upon his life. von Stromberg chuckled. Is that not enough to prejudice a man, if he were honest? Yes, if he were honest, said Ritzio, did he have any authority for his belief? Yes, Herr Ritzio, said the General, fixing Ritzio with his stare. He told me that Maxwell had learned it from Byfield. Byfield? Ritzio started forward quickly. Hammersley is a fool. Have I not told excellence that Byfield knew nothing whatever of my connection with the affair? von Stromberg stretched his long arms impatiently. Herr Maxwell, unfortunately, is silent. Captain Byfield is in a position where the only questions that can be put to him will be those at the gates of heaven by his maker. He gave the bell on the table a resounding blow and grinned mischievously at Ritzio. You say that Herr Hammersley is a fool. He asserts that you are one. I shall now smoke a cigar and decide for myself which of you is correct. And as the soldier entered, tell Herr Hammersley that I wish to see him here at once. I can only say excellence, said Ritzio when the man went out, that I am willing to abide by your verdict. Even though it should be unfavorable to yourself, grailed von Stromberg, that excellence is quite impossible. I have known stranger things to happen. The worst aspect of your case is that Herr Hammersley is here. There was no need for him to come. You yourself admit that. He had only to stay in England to devote his talents to a more congenial occupation. Von Stromberg puffed on his cigar and leaned across the table. Can you tell me why Herr Hammersley came to Germany? Answer me correctly, Ritzio, and I will give you every masterpiece in Belgium. Ritzio frowned into the fire. I cannot say, he replied. I have admitted that he has puzzled me. I can only think of one thing. Hammersley is a type of man who, under the guise of inefficiency, does all things well. He is a sportsman. He would do such a thing for the love of adventure, because the danger, the excitement appealed to him, because it was the sporting thing. A reason, Ritzio, mattered von Stromberg. But not the real reason. Ritzio started, and a smile broke at the corners of his lips. Oh, you realize, then, that there is something else, something he paused. I realize nothing, growled the general. Realization, Ritzio, is the one banality of existence. Uncertainty is the only thing worthwhile. When one is certain of anything, it ceases to be interesting. That is why Herr Hammersley, whom you call a fool, in one breath and a genius in the next, excites my profound attention. Come, I think you will agree with me, that he is worth it. I do not like Hammersley's excellence. But that need not prevent your interest in him, even though your interest is largely in his death. The phrase was significant, delivered significantly, and in spite of himself, Ritzio felt the gaze of the general piercing his veneer. I could feel no happiness in such a misfortune. He said gravely, not withstanding my dislike of him. A knock at the door interrupted further conversation, and, at the command from the general, Hammersley entered. End of Chapter 14. Chapter 15 of the Yellow Dove by George Gibbs. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Tony Oliva. The Inquisition If General von Stromberg had counted upon playing a trump card in producing Ritzio at this interview, Herr Hammersley's demeanor must have disappointed him. For he entered the room with cheerful composure, noted Ritzio, stared at him in sudden seriousness, and then turned to von Stromberg with the air of a man briskly intent. He wanted to see me excellence, he asked quietly. He had evinced a mild surprise at Ritzio's presence, but no discomposure. If anything, his manner now had a kind of sober eagerness as at the imminence of an issue in which a necessary, if painful duty, must be performed. General von Stromberg from his armchair regarded him through a cloud of tobacco smoke. Yes Herr Hammersley, said von Stromberg, as you will observe Herr Ritzio has just arrived from England. He followed you almost immediately upon his yacht. It is most fortunate that he is here, for there are several matters which we can discuss in privacy together. I am at your service, excellence, said Hammersley. If there are any facts which I can add to my report, I shall be glad. His idiom was Hanoverian. Ritzio, quite cool, faced him upright with folded arms. To begin with, minor Heron, we will sit. To stand is the attitude of discomposure. One thinks more calmly, sitting down. You have my permission. So, now we will proceed. I will outline in the briefest words the situation. Herr Hammersley, an agent of the Secret Service Department of the Imperial Government, is entrusted with the receipt and delivery of certain secret messages. He receives them, but is requested by Herr Ritzio, also an agent of the Secret Service Department of the Imperial Government, on authority of indubitable credentials, to relinquish the message to Herr Ritzio. It is not necessary to state the reasons of the Imperial Secret Service Department in desiring the transfer of this message. It is sufficient that Herr Hammersley refused to obey the orders. He has given explanations which on their face seem adequate. Upon the side of Herr Ritzio, it may be said that, failing in his object, he came to a certain conclusion most unflattering to the loyalty of Herr Hammersley. We will now proceed in orderly fashion to hear the cause of Herr Hammersley's refusal and the subsequent acts of Herr Ritzio, which I have created so great a misunderstanding. Herr Hammersley, bitter, you will tell us the facts, as you have related them. I learned from Herr Maxwell that Herr Ritzio was playing a double game. Captain Byfield had furnished him with full proofs of it, one of which was a letter he had seen from Herr Ritzio to a military officer high in the Councils of the War Office. This was an additional reason, excellence, why Herr Maxwell arranged with Captain Byfield that the cigarette papers should be delivered to me. Ritzio leaned quickly forward, his face dark with passion. Excellence, he began, that could not possibly be true. The real reason for the delivery of the message to Herr Hammersley, excellence well knows. And Herr Maxwell would hardly send men to follow Herr Hammersley at my request if he disbelieved in my loyalty. Quite so, he would not and did not, said Hammersley. The men were not Herr Maxwell's, they were men of Scotland Yard. It is quite obvious by the way they bungle matters. The general smiled delightedly. It was the sort of joke he liked. That is one point in your favour, Hammersley. Ritzio shrugged. Excellence well knows, he said, why those men were sent. They had instructions to get the papers for Maxwell. There is strange, said Hammersley. If Maxwell had asked me personally for the papers, I should have given them to him. Maxwell would have known better than to entrust those papers to a third person. It is not likely that I should have given them up to any man, even if Maxwell had sent him. It is unfortunate that Herr Maxwell is not here to. One moment Herr Ritzio broke in the general, then to Hammersley. What was the nature of the letter which you say was sent by Herr Ritzio to a high official of the war office? It was a statement in regard to the case of Carl Hubert, who as you know, was shot last week in the Tower of London. Ah, von Stromberg frowned. We are killing our evidence to fast mine hair. A little too fast for convenience. Bitter, we will kill no more German agents in the Tower until they have had an opportunity to testify. Hammersley smiled. Unfortunately, excellence. I have no means of restoring him to life, he said. He was an excellent man, and leaves, I believe, a wife and six children. Von Stromberg tapped his fingers slowly. We will go on, if you please, with the discussion of the general facts. You claim that Herr Maxwell distrusting Ritzio arranged that the papers should be handed from Captain Byfield to you. I have told you that Maxwell had orders from me to put you to this test. Pardon, excellence. I did not know that at the time. I only know that Herr Maxwell chose to disregard your orders to him and Ritzio, instructing me not to deliver the papers to Ritzio under any circumstances. When did Herr Maxwell make the discovery of Herr Ritzio's treachery? It was the evening of Lady Heathcote's dinner. Captain Byfield had learned the truth that afternoon. One moment Ritzio rose his face pale with anger. It is easy to manufacture evidence of this kind, where both the witnesses mentioned are beyond reach. I will not even deny the truth of their charges. They are too absurd. If I was acting for England, will Herr Hammersley tell me why the agents of Scotland Yard, whom he says I sent for, did not surround the house at Ashwater Park and boldly demand the papers from Miss Martha in the name of the government and the law? The reasons are obvious, replied Hammersley. I will give Herr Ritzio the credit for that much delicacy. If his men had found the papers at Ashwater Park, Froylein Martha, whom Herr Ritzio esteems most highly, and who was quite innocent, would have eventually been imprisoned by the government as a spy. At his orders, the house was therefore secretly searched by night. I am happy to say, unsuccessfully, Herr Ritzio was surely not denying the kindness of his motives upon that occasion. Excellence will take that reply for what it is worth. Scotland Yard has never permitted sentimental considerations to interfere with the performance of its duties. Hammersley went on stolidly. I cannot conceive of any agents of Germany attempting to kill me. This my pursuers did at Sultum Rocks, and again in the person of Ritzio himself, on the cliffs at Beauforted, even Excellence, Hammersley leaned forward smiling blandly. Even after he knew that I had met Captain Stammer and conveyed my acceptance of Excellences, invitation to return to Germany, I was not sure that he would go. If not for any other excellence, the pursuit of the agents of Scotland Yard would have been sufficient. Fortunately, however, I had intended going as the bearer of the by-field message, and I carried it. I cannot deny that. He brought a message, Excellence, put in Ritzio quickly. But what message? There were two messages, one prepared by Captain Byfield, the other prepared by Hammersley. I do not deny that. When I discovered that I was likely to have an interesting evening, I made a copy of the papers in a package of riz le coix, which I had in my Ritzio broken quickly. That copy was made not at Lady Heathcoats that night, but at the War Office, or elsewhere, the following day. It was prepared for the emergency of capture, and escaping that for delivery to General von Stromberg. General von Stromberg has been told about those papers. I have told him where and when I made the copy. And where was that? asked Ritzio keenly. In the library at Lady Heathcoats, where you were telephoning to Scotland Yard. Ritzio struggled for control, and then with dignity to von Stromberg. I was telephoning to have Maxwell Excellence. He turned to Hammersley with a confident smile, assuming for the moment that what you say about copying the papers is true. What did you do with the copy? I took it out to the motor, where I slipped it down the window sash. Hammersley laughed. Surely Ritzio, the tall man from Scotland Yard, must have told you that when I escaped, I shouted at him that he had not searched the motor. General von Stromberg broke in suddenly. Why did you say that? Hammersley shrugged. I had injured the motor, and I knew that I should escape. The bravado of triumph excellence. I was rather happy, for, as a fact, they had given me an uncomfortable evening. Ritzio leaned across the table. Excellence! It was to draw attention from the girl who had the original message, and who had concealed herself in a tree. General von Stromberg took a small object from his pocket and weighed it lightly in the fingers of one hand. It was the package of Rila Croix. As Hammersley was about to speak, he held up the other hand in demand for silence. We are not getting very far, minor Heron. He said, both of you tell excellent stories of your adventures worthy of the best traditions of the Secret Service Department. If, as Herr Ritzio alleges, Herr Hammersley has substituted other papers for the original ones burned by Miss Doris Mather, Herr Hammersley will be shot. If, as Herr Hammersley alleges, Herr Ritzio was in communication with Scotland Yard, the officers of which attempted the life of Herr Hammersley while he bore dispatches for me, Herr Ritzio will be shot. It is a very delicate matter, minor Heron, one which will require much thought, since the one man who could settle the question is in an English prison. Hammersley started a pace forward. Oh, then he is taken. Ritzio glanced quickly at Hammersley. Excellence, the same person who caused the arrest of Captain Byfield gave Maxwell to the police. Von Stromberg's gaze followed Ritzio's to Hammersley. And you, Herr Hammersley, what do you suggest? If the report is true excellence, I quite agree with Herr Ritzio, he said easily. Von Stromberg showed his teeth in a wolfish smile. And each of you contends that it was the other. Hammersley merely nodded, but Ritzio was by this time in a state which made self-control an impossibility. Excellence, he cried heartily, is it conceivable that I should have come to Germany if I had been guilty of the crime of which this man accuses me? I have served Germany against. You forget Herr Ritzio, said the general blandly, that Herr Hammersley has also come to Germany. And while he is here, Germany is in danger. He is a spy of England excellence. Hammersley only laughed. If I had been a spy of England excellence, I surely had many chances to serve England's cause. Why should I have even met Captain Stammer at Beaufort Cove? It would have been quite easy to have informed the artillery officer at Innerwick and blown his destroyer out of the water while she lay at anchor. Herr Ritzio forgets that honesty is always provided with proof. In reply to this accusation, I would ask Herr Ritzio how he managed to pass through the cordon of British destroyers which guard the coast. Ritzio hesitated and von Stromburg spoke. That is a fair question. Answer. I had English papers as well as German. I came away before the war office had time to act upon Herr Hammersley's information as to my services to Germany. Hammersley shrugged. I make no reply. Von Stromburg frowned at the opposite wall, snapping the papers of the package in his fingers impatiently. An impasse. I suspected as much. We will now resort to other means. The only possible solution of this case, barring the unpleasant alternative of shooting both of you gentlemen in the garden this afternoon, lies in the nature of the dispatches themselves and in the production of a material witness. He brought his broad palm down on the bell upon the table and said to Captain von Vinden, who answered it, you will bring for a line Doris Mather down to this room at Watts. As Captain von Vinden went out, the eyes of both men were turned to Hammersley. He started in surprise and leaned forward toward von Stromburg, slowly turning with a frown to Ritzio. Doris, Miss Mather, here he muttered. She came with with Herr Ritzio von Stromburg nodded. Herr Ritzio persuaded her to come with him. Persuaded. It is impossible. He rose and took a pace toward Ritzio. What could have been his object? I do not understand. It would be very cruel to her to to see me. St. Cheneau's, that I am an enemy of England, excellence. She, it was, who read the papers and burned them. If Herr Ritzio supposes that Froylein Mather's evidence will, he paused, his brow knitting in thought. Her evidence is important, said von Stromburg. Under the circumstances you should be glad to have such an enemy to testify against you. Sit down, Herr Hammersley. I regret that the necessities of the case require this witness. Hammersley sat and, frowning at the wall opposite, folded his arms. I met your orders, excellence. I need not remind you that you will tell the truth. That, said von Stromburg, with a wide wave of the hand, is precisely what we are here for. There was a silence grim and amusing on von Stromburg's part, self-restrained on Ritzio's. Hammersley still sat, staring at the wall, thoughtful, and apparently in no great enjoyment of the prospect. When the door opened and Doris Mather entered, the three men rose. Her face was pale, and lines of care were at her eyes and lips. But there was no denying the proud poise of her head, the firmness of her mouth, and the steady look from her eyes, as her glance passed Ritzio and Hammersley, and sought the figure of the man in uniform. She measured him with a look that neglected nothing. Her gaze finally meeting the dark shadow under the gray thatch of brows, where his small eyes gleamed at her. The general bowed, clicked his heels together, and brought forth a chair, which he indicated with a polite gesture. I offer apologies, froiline, for the unfortunate situation in which destiny has placed you, he said in excellent English. Will you be seated? The girl sat and faced him, her gaze still fixed upon his face. It was as though she meant to ignore the presence of the other two men. General von Stromburg stared at her for a moment in silence, and then, finding that his frown was only met by a look of calm inquiry, smiled at her instead. You know, of course, froiline, the situation with which you are confronted. Herr Ritzio has brought you to Germany to shed what light you can, upon the mystery of these cigarette papers. Herr Hammersley says that Herr Ritzio has been acting as an agent of the English government, while professedly in the service of Germany. Herr Ritzio says that Herr Hammersley is an English spy. Your position is a difficult one, but circumstances have woven you into a piece of international politics. Your testimony is of the utmost importance to one, perhaps, both of these gentlemen. I will do what I can to enlighten you, she said haltingly, what do you wish to know? General von Stromburg beamed on her. Ah, I am glad you take the sensible view of things. He waved the package of cigarette papers in his fingers. You have seen this object before? Yes, I think so. Will you let me look at it? The general moved his chair closer and put the papers in her fingers. She opened the papers and, finding the message, scanned it closely, reading the writing with deliberateness and then looking up into von Stromburg's face. You have seen this before? Yes, where? At Lady Heathcote's house in Scotland. How did it come into your hands? I found it on the floor of Mr Hammersley's room. The knight Herr Ritzio entered it, thinking it was yours? Yes, that was the time. You are quite sure. Quite. How did you identify it? By certain peculiar characteristics of the handwriting, with which I am familiar. Mr Hammersley's, is it not? Yes. And how did this package of papers go out of your possession? Mr Hammersley took them from me. By force? She raised her chin proudly and looked at her questioner, and then lowered her eyes, replying quietly. Yes. There was another package of cigarette papers of the same make as these. There was. You read them? I did. Was this before or after you found the second package, these which I now have in my hand? Before. How long before? It was the night of Lady Heathcote's dinner in London. The night Mr Hammersley took me home in the machine. The night you were followed by men in another machine? Yes. You escaped to Ashwater Park with the package of papers which Herr Hammersley had given you and, after hiding in a tree in the privacy of your room, read these papers? I did. Were the contents of the papers you read at Ashwater Park the same as those you hold in your hand? As nearly as I can remember they were. Exactly. Word for word? I cannot say that. There were certain names and certain figures that I remember very clearly as being exactly the same. I, I, she hesitated. There were reasons why in the state of mind that I was in, what I saw remained impressed upon my memory. Hammersley throughout had set immovable, but Ritzio who had shown signs of anxiety now interrupted. Excellence, I beg. von Stromberg silenced him with a gesture. If you will be pleased to continue, Froiline, do you remember the numerals? Some of them. And the towns and dates. Some of them. And are they the ones that you remember? Identical in both packets. As far as I can remember. Von Stromberg took the packet from her hands and turned it over in his fingers. There is nothing about this packet. No distinguishing mark that would make it different from the other, the one that was banned. None, except the handwriting. Hmm. General von Stromberg put the packet into an inside pocket and buttoned his coat carefully. So far so good. You are an intelligent witness, Froiline. Thank you. If the words of her question are contained an ulterior suggestion, the girl gave every indication of being oblivious to it, listening with a grave calmness to his next question. When you escaped into the tree, were you in a position to hear what went on in the road? I was. The man in the road searched her hamsly? They did. And at last he escaped. Yes. Do you remember hearing him shout anything as his motor moved away? Yes. What was it? That they hadn't searched the machine, or words to that effect. Von Stromberg glanced at Ritzio, who was leaning forward in his chair eager to speak. Well, Herr Ritzio, he asked. That was the diversion, intended to give Miss Mather more time in which to escape. The second package was not in the motor. At that time there was no second package. Doris Mather's voice was raised just a trifle, but for the moment it dominated. There was. Mr. Hammersley put it into the window-sash when he was in danger of capture. Then why didn't he put them both there? I suppose because he wanted to be sure that one of them would reach its destination. Von Stromberg grunted. I see. But why did you help Mr. Hammersley to save those papers when you knew that they were dangerous to England? I didn't know that they were. I did what he asked me to do because, because she faltered. Von Stromberg waved his hand. Oh, very well. It does not matter. Who did you think was pursuing Mr. Hammersley? Agents of Mr. Ritzio. Why did you think that? Because I heard part of what happened between Mr. Ritzio and Mr. Hammersley in the smoking room at Lady Heathcoats, and I knew that Mr. Ritzio had threatened Mr. Hammersley. Did you think the men who followed you in the other machine were German agents? Doris answered quickly. Oh no, I was sure that they were men of Scotland Yard. Are you sure now? Oh yes, subsequent events have proved it to me conclusively. Oh, what events? The things that Mr. Ritzio did, and what he wrote. He wrote to you? Yes, Ritzio was swallowing uneasily, his face pale, his hands trembling. Excellence, I can explain at another time. Von Stromberg regarded him coolly. I will hear you at another time. For the present, Freiline Mather will speak. What did Mr. Ritzio write to you that led you to think that Mr. Ritzio was in communication with Scotland Yard? This letter, Excellence, she put her fingers into her waist and tanned it a crumpled paper to the General. Ritzio had risen again and would have interposed, but Von Stromberg waved him aside. You will keep silence until questioned, he said abruptly, and then smoothing a letter upon his knee read it with great care and deliberateness. Ritzio made an effort at composure, but only succeeded in bringing out a handkerchief and wiping his brows. Hammersley watched Von Stromberg intently. He was not aware of the contents of this letter, but the attitude of the girl was distinctly reassuring. Von Stromberg's brow puckered disagreeably, and his long nose neared the paper, while his eyes peered at the sheet as though his fiery gaze would burn into it. He read the paper through twice, and then brought his hand down upon the table with a crash, while his voice thundered at Ritzio, toward whom he extended the note. It is signed with your initials. Did you write this? Ritzio bent and examined the letter. Excellence, I did, but it was with the object of bringing Miss Mather to silence. Perhaps you do not recall its terms. I will refresh your memory. Excellence, if I had not written that letter, Miss Mather would not have. Be quiet. Sit down. Please, listen. I am telling you this, he read, to warn you that my generosity to Hammersley is not actuated by any love of a man who has spoiled my dearest ambition, but by the continued esteem with which I still regard yourself. I do not love him, and my own wish, my duty, my own honour, my loyalty to England, all a claim that he should be delivered at once to those in authority. And yet I have refrained for you Doris, but I have learned that H is in communication with G, and that Crenshaw of Scotland Yard is on the alert. I may not be able to save him. From Stromberg paused and laid the letter upon the table. I could read more, he said, but that is enough. When did you receive this letter, Froylein? The day after Mr Hammersley was shot. And acting upon it, you went to Ben Achilt to try to persuade him from the cause of Germany. Yes, she said clearly. You failed? I did. The general paused and turned to Ritcio. What have you to say? Merely excellence, that I thought Miss Maffer knew too much for Germany's good, and I chose this means of getting her to Ben Achilt, where she could witness a secret meeting between two officers of my department. Ha! Ritcio, your story leaks like a sieve. It is full of holes. He touched the bell at his elbow, and von Vinden appeared. You will convey Ha! Ritcio to the room on the third floor. Put a guard over him. Ritcio started to his feet, his face ghastly, while beads of moisture stood out upon his forehead. He will not give me a chance to explain. He protested huskily. You will be given a hearing tomorrow. But, excellence, take him away. As the door closed behind the two men, General von Stromberg came forward and took Hammersley by the hand. I am glad, mine have, that there is no longer any suspicion upon you. I have always liked you, Herr Hammersley, and you have done the fort alonged, excellence others. I am sorry that this investigation was necessary, but in times like these I am not in a position to take chances. I understand excellence, but it hasn't discommoded me in the least. Von Stromberg laughed. I can believe it. You are always as cool as a morning in May, as for Froiline Mather. And he turned ceremoniously to Doris and bowed deeply. It has all been a mistake. If the efforts of a counsellor of the Empire in undoing the wrong done you by sanding you with every comfort and dispatch to England are any sign of regret, you shall be safely on the way tomorrow. But I am sure that in your heart you are glad to have had the opportunity to clear Herr Hammersley of an unjust suspicion. Yes, she murmured, turning away toward the window, but you still wish that the part of Herr Hammersley, which is English, had been the greater part of him, instead of the lesser, licked Va. She bowed her head, but did not reply. Perhaps it would be better if I left you two alone together. There is doubtless much that you would say, which would be only interesting to yourselves. And then he went out, closing the door behind him. End of Chapter 15