“Nonsense! you don’t know what you are talking about. I am sorry to leave you, but it cannot be helped. This is war time, and I am working for my country. You are to do as I say, and if you disobey my orders you will live to regret it. You are not to let the girl out after I am gone, do you understand? You are to let her suppose I am still here. When I have been away two days, you may do as you please. I don’t care what happens then. I shall have accomplished what I have to do, and I can take care of myself after that. The girl may say what she chooses.” “But what will become of me, Rudolph?” cried Mrs. Becker, piteously. “They will hold me responsible--they----” “Now, see here, Gertrude,” interrupted her husband in a somewhat milder tone, “I am sorry, very sorry, but, as I said before, it cannot be helped. I am working for a great cause. I cannot have all my work ruined by a silly child. “After all, it was your own niece who caused all the trouble. It is only just that you should suffer something for being the aunt of such an idiot. I would not leave you if it were not absolutely necessary for me to get away just now. Something that girl said has made me uneasy. That man Lippheim that she mentioned; we have been suspicious of him for some time. I saw him myself in New London, swaggering about at that dance I told you of. I had no idea he knew the Schiller girl. If he should track her here--ha! what’s that?” “It’s the bell, Rudolph,” said Mrs. Becker, wiping her eyes. Mr. Becker--who had given a violent start, and turned rather pale--pulled himself together with an effort. “Go to the door,” he said. “If it’s any one to see me, say I’m out. Don’t let any one in, on any account.” Mr. Becker’s tone was firm, but the color did not return to his face, and while his wife went to obey his commands, he glanced about the room nervously, as if for some means of escape, should occasion require it. There was a moment of silence, while the door was being opened, then a suppressed scream from Mrs. Becker, followed by approaching footsteps, and two men walked quietly into the room. “You are Rudolph Becker, I believe,” remarked the foremost of the two strangers, and he glanced keenly about the room as he spoke. “That is my name, certainly. To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Mr.--Mr. Lippheim, is it not?” The visitor nodded. “Quite correct,” he said. “Fritz Lippheim is my name. I suppose you are aware of the fact that, for several months, you have been under suspicion of being in the pay of the German Government?” Mr. Becker changed color, but his voice, though less steady than usual, was still calm. “I believe you are a German yourself,” he said, quietly.