He came back just in time to serve the coffee, with the information that their train would not arrive until seven-thirty; then he stood watching them and listening to their talk of home and friends and plans for the future. Stewart began to be proud of his facility of invention, and of his abilities as an actor. But he had to admit that he was the merest bungler compared with his companion. Her mental quickness dazzled him, her high spirits were far more exhilarating than the wine. He ended by forgetting that he was playing a part. This woman was really his wife, they were going on together---- Suddenly Hans stirred in his corner. Heavy steps were coming toward the court along the sanded floor of the corridor. In a moment three men in spiked helmets stepped out into the fading light of the evening. "The police to speak to you, sir," said Hans, and Stewart, turning, found himself looking into three faces, in which hostility and suspicion were only too apparent. CHAPTER VI THE SNARE As the three men advanced to the table, Stewart saw that each of them carried a heavy pistol in a holster at his belt. "You speak German?" one of them asked, gruffly. "A little. But I would prefer to speak English," answered Stewart. "We will speak German. What is your nationality?" "I am an American." "Were you born in America?" "Yes." "Have you a passport?" "Yes." "Let me see it." Stewart was about to reach into his pocket and produce it, when he remembered his companion's suggestion. So he felt in one pocket after another without result, while the Germans shifted impatiently from foot to foot. "It must be in my other coat," he said, half to himself, enjoying the situation immensely. "But no; I do not remember changing it. Ah, here it is!" and he drew it forth and handed it to the officer. The latter took it, unfolded it, and stepped out into the court where the light was better. He read it through carefully, compared the description point by point with Stewart's appearance, and then came back to the table. "Who is this person?" he asked, and nodded toward the girl. "She is my wife," answered Stewart, with a readiness which astonished himself. "She did not arrive here with you." "No," and he told the story of how he had left her at Spa to recuperate from a slight nervous attack, while he himself went on to Vienna. He omitted no detail--even added a few, indeed, in the fervor of creation--and with his limited German, which his hearers regarded with evident contempt, the story took some time to tell. The police listened attentively to every word, without the slightest sign of impatience, but long before it was ended, the lady in question was twisting nervously in her seat. "What is the matter, Tommy?" she demanded, petulantly. "Are you relating to them the story of your life?" "No," he explained, blandly, venturing at last to look at her, "I was just telling them how it was that you and I had arranged to meet at this hotel."