“You mean that you will leave us here?” “_Natürlich._ I do not wish to see you killed against the kitchen wall. It is not the death for the blood of von Eppingen. Even if you are shot while escaping it would be better.” He shrugged. “My position is this. You can do Germany no further harm. I shall tell a likely story. I have the papers--they are what I came for. If you had not given them to me I would have killed you, but now I shall go away alone as I came.” “Good old Udo!” said Hammersley impulsively, taking a pace toward him, his hand outstretched. But von Winden’s automatic came quickly into line and Hammersley halted. “One moment, my cousin,” said von Winden coolly. “I am quite willing to accept your expressions of gratitude from a distance. I may not wish to see you killed by others, and I would regret the necessity of killing you myself. I shall consider you my prisoner until I go. After that”--and he shrugged expressively--“you can go where you like.” Hammersley folded his arms and frowned. “Where I like!” he muttered. “With every village in Hesse-Nassau on the lookout for me.” There was a pause, after which von Winden spoke with quiet earnestness. “Unfortunately I may not help you further. Since there is food, to wait here is safer. Alone, traveling by night, a man might reach Basel safely. As for the Fräulein, if she will return to Blaufelden and give herself up, imprisonment for a time is perhaps the worst that she need fear.” Doris had risen, the white light from the door of the cavern searching her face pitilessly. “It is what I would do,” she said haltingly. “What I have pleaded with him to let me do. Cyril,” she implored in English, “you must let me.” “I will think about it,” he muttered. “You are sure that no harm will come to her?” The muzzle of the automatic had wavered out of line again and Hammersley was carefully measuring with his eye the distance that separated him from his cousin. “The bark of Excellenz is much worse than his bite. He will bluster and storm. But eventually he will return Miss Mather to her own people.” Hammersley was shaking his head in indecision. “I am not so sure that I agree with you about the bite of Excellenz. I shall think of what I will do. I’m sure of one thing, Udo,” he said with sincerity, “that I am deeply grateful for what you have done. The war has made us enemies, and you have now prevented the success of my great venture. But I bear you no illwill. The debt is still mine on account of your silence, back there--a debt made deeper by the presence of Fräulein Mather.” He paused to give his words effect. “I had not told you, Udo, for at Windenberg one has no time to think of the gentler things of life. But just before the war broke out Fräulein Mather had promised me to become my wife.”