"I think I know," he said. Then quite abruptly he changed from the English language to German, which he spoke with the perfect accent of a man educated in Frankfurt. "But it may save you much if you begin by telling me your real name. The name you are known by in--Germany." A pair of simple, startled eyes gazed back into his. "Has--Vita--told you?" he demanded. Ruxton shook his head. "Then how did you know?" "Does it matter? I desire to make it easier for you." For a few moments neither spoke. The artificial light in the room had merged once more into daylight. There was again the sound of the opening and shutting of iron doors on deck above them. There were also the harsh tones of orders being given. Ruxton knew that it was the return of the launch which had conveyed this man's daughter ashore, and that it was being taken on board and stowed within the parent craft. Presently the sounds died away. Once more the light in the saloon became artificial, and the silent throb of engines made themselves felt. The journey had begun. "Well?" Ruxton had now given himself entirely to the use of the German language. The inventor cleared his throat "My name is Stanislaus. Stanislaus, Prince von Hertzwohl." Ruxton Farlow did not move a muscle. There was not the quiver of an eyelid, nor one detail of change of expression. Yet he was not unmoved at the mention of the man's real name. Although he had half expected it, it came with something very like a shock. Stanislaus von Hertzwohl! Did he not know it? Did not the whole wide world know it? Was it not the one name, out of all the great German names associated with the war, which was anathematized more surely even than that of the Kaiser himself? Stanislaus von Hertzwohl! The man who had perfected the German submarine. The man who had made possible the hideous slaughter of innocent victims upon the high seas. The man at whose door was laid the responsibility for that inhuman massacre--the sinking of the _Lusitania_. The man whom the world believed was the father of every diabolical engine of slaughter devised to combat his country's enemies. "Of course, I know the name," he said simply. "Everybody knows it." His reply seemed to fire the powder train of the Prince's passionate emotion. "Ach!" he cried, with a desperately helpless gesture of expressive hands. "That is it. Everybody! Everybody knows it! They know the name, but they do not know the truth." Then, in a moment, the fire of his emotion seemed to die out. "Mr. Farlow, I want you to know that truth," he went on calmly. "Will you listen to it now? Will you listen to it with an open mind, or--or have you already sat in judgment, and, with the rest of an unthinking, unreasoning world, condemned me?"