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 kept her silent, though at that time she suspected that he was a German agent.”

“I see,” said von Stromberg, manifesting a sudden activity with his fingers. “The lady is interested in Herr Hammersley?”

“Yes, Excellenz.”

“More interested in him, perhaps, than she is in you?”

Rizzio bowed in silence.

“Gut,” said von Stromberg rising. “That perhaps makes matters more amusing for us—perhaps a little more amusing for Herr Hammersley.”

He paced the floor with long strides while Rizzio watched him until he stopped before the fire and spoke again.

“Herr Rizzio, you have told me about the events in Scotland when, as you say, Hammersley, acting as an Englishman, warned the lady against you as an agent of Germany. What I would like very much to know is why, when you were sure he was acting for England, you did not have him killed at once.”

“I tried, Excellenz, but he was too well prepared for me. My men shot at him on the road and wounded him slightly—but on the cliffs at Ben-a-Chielt he had a confederate who killed one of my men. The other, as I have related, fell over the cliffs.”

“But you”—put in the officer harshly—“what were you doing all the while?”

“I shot at him and missed.”

“That was unfortunate—from our point of view. It is not the custom of agents of my department to miss—at anything, Herr Rizzio. But since Hammersley is here, the damage, if damage there is, can be repaired. What did you do after that?”