“The supposition does not flatter his intelligence or mine. Aside from the difficulties of his position at present, if he were seeking information as to the plans of the Empire, he would have about as much chance of getting away from here alive as you would have, Herr Rizzio, in the same circumstances.” The old man towered to his full height and brought his huge fist down with a crash upon the table which startled Rizzio, who fingered his mustache, his face a shade paler. “I am glad, Excellenz,” he said with a laugh, “that I am not in Hammersley’s shoes.” Disregarding Rizzio’s comment, the old man paced the floor again, storming. “The other question that I would like to ask you is, what has become of Herr Maxwell?” Rizzio started up, now in genuine concern. “Have you not heard from him, Excellenz?” “No,” roared the other. “Why haven’t I? You should know.” “I do not know. I saw him the day I left London for Scotland. He was fully informed of all that had happened. Could it be that----” Rizzio paused with a deep frown. “Where is he? Why has he not reported? Could anything have happened to him? What were you thinking?” “That Hammersley perhaps--but that could hardly be--since he always moved under cover----” “_Du lieber Jesu!_ Speak out! Will you?” “I thought that Hammersley might have been the cause of his arrest.” “Oh, you think that? Why?” “Because it was Hammersley who told the War Office of Byfield----” “What proof have you of that?” “No one knew of Byfield’s connection with us but Hammersley, Maxwell and myself.” “Those were my orders. How do I know that they were obeyed?” “One doesn’t disobey orders, Excellenz, with one’s head in a noose.” “H--m. There are many necks in nooses at Windenberg. And one of the nooses will be tightened.” He had stopped before Rizzio and was scowling at him with eyes that shot malevolence. Rizzio knew something of von Stromberg’s methods and was sure that he was merely trying to intimidate him, to reduce him to a consistency which would reveal hidden weaknesses in texture; yet, knowing this, Rizzio felt most uncomfortable. He twirled his mustache and looked out of the window, but his glance came back to von Stromberg’s eyes, which never wavered or changed in intensity, as though under the influence of some strange hypnotic attraction. “You know, of course,” the old man’s harsh voice snapped at him, “what Herr Hammersley accuses you of?” “I can imagine, Excellenz.” “He says that you have been acting for the English Government.” Rizzio started up in alarm. “You do not for a moment believe----” “Don’t get excited. I believe nothing--which I do not wish to believe. But he tells a very pretty story, Herr Rizzio.” “He would,” said Rizzio easily. “I will do him the credit of saying that he is skillful. But a lie will discover itself in the end.”