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Van Blarcom's explanation, though it made me furious, had brought conviction. There was a certain grim appositeness about it all.
Well it's all right, I suppose, then," he admitted in a very grudging tone. "No, it isn't," I declared tartly. I was by no means satisfied with so half-hearted a vindication; nor did I care to owe my immunity to a patronizing lie on Mr. Van Blarcom's part. "You have accused me of spying. Do you think I'll let it go at that?
Confound Van Blarcom's reminiscences and the thoughts they had set stirring! In ambush behind my paper I gloomily relived the past. Our ship, following sealed instructions, had changed her course at Gibraltar, conveying us by way of the Spanish coast to Genoa instead of Naples.
I have to act in secret till I have succeeded, and then every one in France, every one on earth may know all that I have done!" If I had not burned my bridges, this announcement might have worried me; it was too vague, and what little I grasped tallied startlingly with Van Blarcom's rigmarole. However, having bowed allegiance, I didn't blink an eyelid. "Yes," I said encouragingly.
If I had needed strength I should have found it in the fact that her eyes, oddly darkened as always when her errand was threatened did not rest on our captors, but turned toward me. "We'll all sit down," Franz von Blenheim agreed most amiably. It evidently amused him to retain the late Mr. Van Blarcom's dialect and air. "We can fix this business up in no time; so why not be sociable?"
After taking one more turn I halted, yawned audibly for the sentry's benefit, and seated myself once more, this time on a bench by the door of the garage. Van Blarcom's cigar became stationary again. The chauffeur, who had satisfied himself as to the engine and was now passing critical fingers over the gashes in the tires, looked up at me casually and then resumed his work.
That's my attitude. Did you ever hear of Franz von Blenheim, Mr. Bayne?" "Eh?" The question seemed distinctly irrelevant and yet where had I heard that name, not very long ago? "The German secret-service agent. The best in the world, they say." A sort of reluctant admiration showed in Van Blarcom's face.
And the scene was picturesque, dotted as it was with mounted bayonets and blue territorial uniforms reminders that boundary lines were no longer jests and that strangers might not enter France unchallenged in time of war. Van Blarcom's elbow at this juncture nudged me sharply. "Say, Mr. Bayne," he was whispering, "look over there, will you? What do you know about that?" I looked indifferently.
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