What was he to do now? If he wrote to Winifred through the ordinary channels of the hotel she might, indeed, soon receive the letter, but the risks of this course were many and obvious. He ate, puzzling his brains, spurring all his power of invention. The time for action was growing short. Suddenly he noticed the German boy, and had a thought. He could speak German well, and, guessing that Rachel Craik probably did not understand a word of it, he said in a natural voice to the boy in German: "Fond of American dollars, boy?" "_Ja, mein Herr_," answered the boy. "I'm going to give you five." "You are very good, _mein Herr_," said the boy, "beautiful thanks!" "But you have to earn them. Will you do just what I tell you, without asking for any reason?" "If I can, _mein Herr_." "Nothing very difficult. You have only to go over yonder by that chair where I was sitting, throw yourself suddenly on the floor, and begin to kick and wriggle as though you had a fit. Keep it up for two minutes, and I will give you not five but ten. Will you do this?" "From the heart willingly, _mein Herr_," answered the boy, who had a solemn face and a complete lack of humor. "Wait, then, three minutes, and then--suddenly--do it." The three minutes passed in silence; no sound in the room, save the clicking of Carshaw's knife and fork, and the ply of Rachel Craik's knitting-needles. Then the boy lounged away to the farther end of the room; and suddenly, with a bump, he was on the floor and in the promised fit. "Halloo!" cried Carshaw, while from both Winifred and Rachel came little cries of alarm--for a fit has the same effect as a mouse on the nerves of women. "He's in a fit!" screamed the aunt. "Please do something for him!" cried Winifred to Carshaw, with a face of distress. But he would not stir from his seat. The boy still kicked and writhed, lying on his face and uttering blood-curdling sounds. This was easy. He had only to make bitter plaint in the German tongue. "Oh, aunt," said Winifred, half risen, yet hesitating for fear, "do help that poor fellow!" Whereupon Miss Craik leaped up, caught the water-jug from the table with a rather withering look at Carshaw, and hurried toward the boy. Winifred went after her and Carshaw went after Winifred. The older woman turned the boy over, bent down, dipped her fingers in the water, and sprinkled his forehead. Winifred stood a little behind her, bending also. Near her, too, Carshaw bent over the now quiet form of the boy. A piece of paper touched Winifred's palm--the note again. This time her fingers closed on it and quickly stole into her pocket. CHAPTER XI THE TWO CARS "It is highly improper on my part to come here and meet you," said Winifred. "What can it be that you have to say to me of such 'high importance'?"