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 hand. It was the package of Riz-la-Croix. As Hammersley was about to speak, he held up the other hand in demand for silence.

“We are not getting very far, meine Herren,” he said. “Both of you tell excellent stories of your adventures worthy of the best traditions of the Secret Service Department. If, as Herr Rizzio alleges, Herr Hammersley has substituted other papers for the original ones burned by Miss Doris Mather, Herr Hammersley will be shot. If, as Herr Hammersley alleges, Herr Rizzio was in communication with Scotland Yard, the officers of which attempted the life of Herr Hammersley while he bore dispatches for me, Herr Rizzio will be shot. It is a very delicate matter, meine Herren, one which will require much thought, since the one man who could settle the question is in an English prison.”

Hammersley started a pace forward. “Oh, then he is taken!”

Rizzio glanced quickly at Hammersley.

“Excellenz, the same person who caused the arrest of Captain Byfield gave Maxwell to the police.”

Von Stromberg’s gaze followed Rizzio’s to Hammersley.

“And you, Herr Hammersley. What do you suggest?”

“If the report is true, Excellenz, I quite agree with Herr Rizzio,” he said easily.

Von Stromberg showed his teeth in a wolfish smile.

“And each of you contends that it was the other, nicht wahr?”

Hammersley merely nodded, but Rizzio was by this time in a state which made self-control an impossibility. “Excellenz,” he cried hotly, “is it conceivable