"Are you English?" demanded von Stein, with an access of roaring emphasis. From the frequency of this question and its venom Phil gathered that the English could not be popular in German military circles. "No, American." "Prove it!" "As you have all my papers there, may I suggest that you have the proof?" Von Stein mumbled an ejaculation through his moustache, while the corrugations between the bushy brows and the grey line of closely-clipped hair twitched. "What are you in Europe for?" "To see Europe--and I'm seeing more of it than I bargained for," answered Phil. "Do not joke! War is war! What do you mean, you a foreigner, an American, you say, by being here when our army came?" "Your army came so fast that I could not get away from it," said Phil drily, as he might on a hot day in cactus land. "Hur-r-r!" or something like it, escaped through von Stein's moustache and he wiggled his lips in a way that might have meant an effort to control a grin. "Why are you in that chateau?" Phil explained quite clearly, even telling how Helen had remained behind and he had returned to look after her and to find that it was impossible to get away before the army came. "What is your business in America?" Phil told this, too. "As you say; but how can we tell that what you say is true?" "As obviously neither my own statement nor appearance counts, by investigation of my references at home through my government, if my papers and letters are not sufficient." "Hur-r-r!" again mumbled von Stein. Then he broke out with fearful frightfulness: "Don't you know that we can have you shot as a spy?" he thundered. As Phil had previously remarked, he had never liked melodrama. It had quite gone out of fashion at home, except in motion pictures of the Southwest as shown in New York and of New York as shown in the Southwest. "Considering the number of your soldiers, not to mention the number of your guns and that I am unarmed, I should venture, with all respect, to say that that is a safe statement," said Phil, and he was smiling pleasantly. "Hur-r-r!" again through the moustache; but in von Stein's grey eyes appeared an irresistible twinkle and this time he actually grinned. He was not without a sense of humour. He read the _Fliegende Blatter_ every week. "It agrees with my examination of his papers," put in the Major, indicating the exhibit on the table. "One of these letters is from his employer, a big man on the other side," he added; and Phil, who knew German better than French, understood the remark. The General took three or four minutes to run his eye over the letters and the diary, grumbling the while, and finally snorting with disgust as he picked them up and handed them to Phil. "Who brought these charges?" he demanded of the Major. Up to that time he had read only the presentment of the case and the object of his questions had been to trip the accused. "Lieutenant von Eichborn, sir."