“No, no,” said Spoerri, “we are a Swiss patrol-boat to-night. I heard that the Germans were about, so I ordered the three other boats to act as convoy. One is travelling behind us, the others on each side. Nobody could reach us; we are already in Swiss waters.” “How much a year do you earn in my service, that makes you take such care of me?” said Mabuse spitefully. “Quite enough,” answered Spoerri; “but that is not why I do it.” “Why then? Are you enamoured of my person, or is it merely the Christian charity that it suits you Swiss folk to assume since the war?” “Yes,” said Spoerri simply. “I have three and a half millions here in my dispatch-case. If you dared to, you would strangle me, but you don’t dare, and that is all there is about it. That is your pure humanity and love. During the last year you have had somewhere about eighty-five thousand, six hundred and seventy-seven marks or more from me.... Is that enough to stifle the desire to murder a man?” “Yes,” said Spoerri once more. “Then you are a slave--my slave. Do you hear me? You are my slave.” “I hear you.” “Shall I slap your face? No; I won’t touch your slave-skin with my own. I just spit in the air.” “Into the sea. You won’t pick a quarrel with anybody. There is no point of honour on the Lake of Constance.” “Point of honour is an expression that doesn’t exist. A point is no larger than a squashed fly, and that’s the extent of a man’s honour--yours too, eh? You have some honour, even if the Lake of Constance has not?” “I have never measured it.” “Speak sense when you talk to me. I won’t stand your tomfoolery.” “We are getting close to the shore.” “Are you shirking, fellow?” “No.” “You dog!” said Mabuse in a stifled voice, in growing wrath. “I feel hatred tingling in my finger-tips. I shall grasp you by the throat, you cur, you cowardly cur, and I shall annihilate you just as the electric current in the American death-chair does, you miserable wretch!” At this moment the engine stopped. For some time the sounds of the boats behind them had ceased. “Why have we stopped?” asked Mabuse angrily. “I gave no orders.” “There is no signal from the shore.” Then Mabuse came to himself again. He stood up, gnashing his teeth, and asked: “What is the matter?” “We must wait. We can always rely on Solly. There is something wrong.” “Let us wait! Have you weapons ready?” “Yes, but if we don’t get the signal, we’d better get into the skiff. Then we can row back to the other boats.” Behind Romanshorn a searchlight began to play, throwing a beam of light into the sky. It moved lower and peered about through the darkness, probing closely and lingering in places, then was directed towards the waters in the middle of the lake. It rose in the sky once more and then fell pitilessly on the very spot where Mabuse’s boat was lying. His knees trembled under the tension.