"Why?" persisted the Foreign Secretary, fixing two piercing eyes on the Spaniard. "Don't think we English politicians are fools, because, in a word, we are not. I know there is an idea abroad on the Continent that because our Secret Service Fund is so small it is utterly ineffective. But that is not true. We have been quite sharp enough to know that ever since you set foot in London you have acted as one of the spies of Spain, and in pursuance of instructions from Madrid you have often bribed some of our men to do worse things than even Alfred Dreyfus was accused of, and have often brought yourself within the meshes of our criminal law. Don't presume too far on British complacency and good humour. We will go far, very far, to preserve the amenities of diplomacy, but over these manuscripts, with your bloodthirsty dreams of a great new Spanish empire that will sack London, you are pushing us a little too hard. Nor is that the worst. We have got your favourite son Paul in our hands at last. We have only to lift a finger and he, too, will be utterly crushed." As it happened, however, the hunchback seemed to think but lightly of this threat against his favourite son, or he was certainly one of the cleverest actors in real life I had ever seen. "We are all in the hands of the British Government, Lord Cuthbertson," he said, with a quick assumption of dignity that matched but ill with the Foreign Secretary's high and overbearing tones. "Paul Zouche is no coward; and whatever blows Fate has in store for him he will meet them with a courage that befits a son of Spain in exile from his native land." "No doubt, no doubt," cut in Lord Fotheringay, as though he were anxious no more should be said on the subject of Paul's guilt just at that moment. "We all of us trust that he will, although at present things which you don't seem to have any knowledge of look very black against him. Still, that is not the point we invited you into this assembly hall of mine to discuss." "Scarcely invited!" echoed the hunchback with an ill-repressed sneer. "Say, rather, tricked by the aid of a niece of mine. What did you do to poor Sparhawk when he got hot and angry and struck out in my defence?" "Well, say `tricked,' then," observed Lord Cuthbertson. "What of that? We are all of us playing for high stakes, and in a game affecting national interests we can't rely on everyday rules that do very well for ordinary men at ordinary times. Will you answer our plain question?-- will you give up those manuscripts to the British Government, or will you not?" "I will not," retorted the hunchback proudly. "They are mine. I have bought them. I shall do with them exactly as I please."