Matheson's head went up with a jerk. It was the most astonishing moment in his life. Here was a man whose hospitality he was partaking of, with whom a minute before he had been in amicable conversation, accusing him of one of the worst crimes in the calendar; and for the life of him he could not tell whether the accusation were just or not. That was the worst of it, the most serious side of the business; he did not know the extent of his responsibility. He raised his hand, prepared to bring his clenched fist passionately down on the table; but his arm dropped to his side, the hand fell open loosely. He sat back in his seat and stared amazedly at the composed face of the man who accused him of a thing so vile, so absolutely unthinkable. "I think, Mr Nel, you will have to take that back," he said quietly, "or prove your words." And then, losing for a space the grip he had managed to get on his feelings, he burst out with some vehemence: "Damn it! What the devil do you mean?" Nel pushed the plate of biltong towards the middle of the table, pocketed his knife, and sat forward, leaning with his arms on the cloth. "You resent my words," he said. "Why should you? Are you not the paid messenger of a German secret agent?" "Holman! ... You mean Holman? Holman is--" "A German," interrupted Nel coolly. "In the Colony perhaps it suits him to pass as British. If you had read the letter you delivered to Andreas Krige you would have seen that he signs himself Holmann. That isn't the English way of spelling the name." "You've read the letter?" Matheson asked quickly. "No." Nel smiled drily. "I saw only the signature. They do not trust me with the letter--no! When they can they keep me from their meetings. But last night I attended. I attend to talk common sense. They do not like common sense; they do not listen. When I talk Andreas Krige closes his eyes; when I have finished he opens them again and resumes as though I had not spoken." The Boer became suddenly excited. "It's devil's work you are engaged upon, Mr Matheson. I am not surprised you feel shame to acknowledge your part in it." Matheson leaned his arms on the table also and brought his face close to the speaker's. With an effort he controlled his temper. He was on the fringe of a discovery; he did not wish to prejudice his chances of learning what was so vitally important that he should know by rousing the other to anger. To learn more of this secret business was all that mattered for the present. In those days the fact that Holman was German was not in itself significant, but it was remarkable that he should conceal his nationality and pass as British. The whole thing in its lying secrecy wore a very sinister look.