He grunted and puffed meditatively at his cigar. “Gambling is a very pleasant pursuit,” he continued amiably. Then his voice grew grim: “But it has its drawbacks, Herr Murchison. The loser pays!” With an effort he straightened himself up in his chair, shook the ash from his cigar into a tray, and leaned across the table. “Who’s been leaking to you?” he demanded. Herr Murchison’s hands were shaking violently. His pallid features seemed to be distraught with sheer fright. Through his large goggles he blinked feebly, idiotically, at his questioner. “My friend,” said Grundt, placing one black-thatched hand palm downwards on the green cloth, “your activities in South Germany are inconvenient to me. With your English gold you have been corrupting my wretched compatriots, plundered and pillaged by the rapacious French, your allies . . .” His fingers clawed up a card. “I shall crush your organization, you and your helpers and your helpers’ helpers . . . like that!” The gleaming millboard wilted in his powerful grasp. “Where are your headquarters?” he rapped out, snarling, and added over his shoulder: “Meinhardt, take a note of his answers!” Herr Murchison cast a panic-stricken glance round the silent, forbidding circle of attentive faces. “Answer me, you dog!” thundered Clubfoot. “I’ve plenty of means at my disposal to banish coyness! Come on! Out with it! I’m not going to waste my time tearing it out of you piecemeal! Are you going to make a clean breast of it? Yes or no!” Herr Murchison extended two trembling hands. “Give me time!” he murmured weakly. “I will tell you what I can!” A light of sudden vigilance appeared in Clubfoot’s eyes. The man’s whole manner changed on the instant. He seemed to bristle. “Time?” he repeated as though to himself. “Paul,” he called, “come here!” Paul Geyer crossed the room and stood behind Grundt’s chair. Clubfoot whispered something in his ear. Without leaving his place, Geyer gave a muttered order to a man at his side, who noiselessly left the room. Grundt took out his watch and laid it on the table before him. “I have exactly five minutes to spare,” he said. “In that time I propose to turn you inside out, my friend, or, by God, we’ll see what the old-fashioned methods of cross-examination will do!” He moistened his lips with his tongue, like some great beast of prey licking its chops. “I’m waiting!” he said. Shaking in every limb, Herr Murchison opened his lips to speak. “My headquarters are . . . Munich!” he said in a strained voice. “Turn your head to the right!” shouted Grundt suddenly. “Turn your head, I say! Meinhardt, Felix! Thrust him down under the lamp!” Strong arms forced Herr Murchison brutally forward until his chest rested on the cloth. His spectacles fell off. The bright light streamed full in his face.