"She is believed to have been a--a native of Australia." "Good Heavens! You don't mean a kangaroo?" "An actress playing in Vienna." "Oh, I am relieved! And Sir Joseph was my father--yes. Do go on." "Whether Sir Joseph was your father or not, he was born in Germany and so was his wife, and they took a false oath of allegiance to his Majesty. All the while they were loyal only to the Kaiser. They worked for him, spied for him. It is said that the Kaiser had promised to make Sir Joseph one of the rulers over England when he captured the island. Sir Joseph was to have any castle he wanted and untold wealth." "What was I to have?" Marie Louise was able to mock her. "Wasn't I to have at least Westminster Abbey to live in? And one of the crown princes for a husband?" Lady Clifton-Wyatt lost her temper and her bearings. "Heaven knows what you were promised, but you did your best to earn it, whatever it was." Mrs. Prothero lost patience. "Really, my dear Lady Clifton-Wyatt, this is all getting beyond me." Lady Clifton-Wyatt grew scarlet, too. She spoke with the wrath of a Tisiphone whipping herself to a frenzy. "I will bring you proofs. This creature was a paid secret agent, a go-between for Sir Joseph and the Wilhelmstrasse. She carried messages. She went into the slums of Whitechapel disguised as a beggar to meet the conspirators. She carried them lists of ships with their cargoes, dates of sailing, destinations. She carried great sums of money. She was the paymaster of the spies. Her hands are red with the blood of British sailors and women and children. She grew so bold that at last she attracted the attention of even Scotland Yard. She was followed, traced to Sir Joseph's home. It was found that she lived at his house. "One of the spies, named Easling or Oesten, was her lover. He was caught and met his deserts before a firing-squad in the Tower. His confession implicated Sir Joseph. The police raided his place. A terrific fight ensued. He resisted arrest. He tried to shoot one of our police. The bullet went wild and killed his wife. Before he could fire again he was shot down by one of our men." The astonishing transformations the story had undergone in its transit from gossip to gossip stunned Marie Louise. The memory of the reality saddened her beyond laughter. Her distress was real, but she had self-control enough to focus it on Lady Clifton-Wyatt and murmur: "Poor thing, she is quite mad!" There is nothing that so nearly drives one insane as to be accused of insanity. The prosecutrix almost strangled on her indignation at Marie Louise's calm. "The effrontery of this woman is unendurable, Mrs. Prothero. If you believe her, you must permit me to leave. I know what I am saying. I have had what I tell you from the best authority. Of course, it may sound insane, but wait until you learn what the German secret agents have been doing in America for years and what they are doing now."