“But why should Mr. Hammersley have come? He would have been safe in England----” “He himself says to the contrary----” She was breaking fast and he sought further to involve her. “He did not have to come. Why should he have come?” she asked wildly, rising to her feet and laying her hands upon his arm. “Answer me that, Excellenz.” For reply he turned away from her abruptly and walked the length of the room to an end window, where he stood for a moment looking out. “Come, Fräulein, and I will show you something.” She approached him blindly and followed his gaze around the corner of the building. Upon a tree stump in the kitchen garden, looking out across the fields toward the wooded hills sat Hammersley, calmly smoking. “Half of his blood is English, half Prussian, Fräulein, but it is the English in him that dominates. Is there anything that is Prussian about him? Tell me. From the crown of his head to the sole of his foot--his pipe, his bent shoulders, his careless air--he is English, all English. He knows that at this moment I am weighing his fate in the balance and yet he smokes his short wooden pipe. If he has Prussian blood it is a pity, for Germany needs all the Prussian blood that flows red in the veins of men.” He paused and then abruptly, “But the Prussian blood must be sacrificed with the English----” She fell back from him, deathly white, groping for a chair to support her. “You mean----” she whispered. “That I can take no chances. He will be shot tomorrow.” “O God! He is loyal to Germany. I swear it.” Her utterance was choked. Her breath came with difficulty. The room darkened suddenly and she seemed about to swoon. She dropped to her knees beside the armchair, clinging to it, trying to speak, but no words would come. She was aware of his hawk-like face bending over her as though in the act of striking its prey and she heard his voice at her ear. “There is one chance to save him.” She reached his hand and clung to it. “A chance--what--” “Tell me the truth,” he said sternly. “I--I have told you the truth. He is innocent.” He loosened her fingers and stood away. “_Quatsch!_” he muttered, leaning forward. “The truth, girl!” “I--I----” She fell against the chair and clung to it for support. “The truth, and he becomes an honorable prisoner of war. Silence, and he is shot tomorrow. Speak.” [Illustration: “The truth, and he becomes an honorable prisoner of war. Silence, and he is shot tomorrow. Speak.”] “He is----” The words choked her. “He is----” “Bah!” he growled, moving toward the table. “You have already convicted him!” She struggled to her feet and followed him. He was about to touch the bell when she caught his arm. “Wait!” she whispered. “What guarantee have I that he will not be injured?” He shrugged and laughed. “I need give no guarantee now, Fräulein. This is not a court of law! I am the judge of what constitutes proof. You have testified.”