He kept his eyes on the speaker, while a smile played round his mouth, a very ugly smile.

‘So,’ he said.  ’We have caught the old crow too.  I had scarcely hoped for such good fortune, and, to speak the truth, I had not concerned myself much about you.  But now we shall add you to the bag.  And what a bag of vermin to lay out on the lawn!’ He flung back his head and laughed.

‘Mr Ivery—­’ Blenkiron began, but was cut short.

’Drop that name.  All that is past, thank God!  I am the Graf von Schwabing, an officer of the Imperial Guard.  I am not the least of the weapons that Germany has used to break her enemies.’

‘You don’t say,’ drawled Blenkiron, still fiddling with his Patience cards.

The man’s moment had come, and he was minded not to miss a jot of his triumph.  His figure seemed to expand, his eye kindled, his voice rang with pride.  It was melodrama of the best kind and he fairly rolled it round his tongue.  I don’t think I grudged it him, for I was fingering something in my pocket.  He had won all right, but he wouldn’t enjoy his victory long, for soon I would shoot him.  I had my eye on the very spot above his right ear where I meant to put my bullet . . .  For I was very clear that to kill him was the only way to protect Mary.  I feared the whole seventy millions of Germany less than this man.  That was the single idea that remained firm against the immense fatigue that pressed down on me.

‘I have little time to waste on you,’ said he who had been called Ivery.  ’But I will spare a moment to tell you a few truths.  Your childish game never had a chance.  I played with you in England and I have played with you ever since.  You have never made a move but I have quietly countered it.  Why, man, you gave me your confidence.  The American Mr Donne . . .’

‘What about Clarence?’ asked Blenkiron.  His face seemed a study in pure bewilderment.

‘I was that interesting journalist.’

‘Now to think of that!’ said Blenkiron in a sad, gentle voice.  ’I thought I was safe with Clarence.  Why, he brought me a letter from old Joe Hooper and he knew all the boys down Emporia way.’

Ivery laughed.  ’You have never done me justice, I fear; but I think you will do it now.  Your gang is helpless in my hands.  General Hannay . . .’  And I wish I could give you a notion of the scorn with which he pronounced the word ‘General’.

‘Yes—­Dick?’ said Blenkiron intently.

’He has been my prisoner for twenty-four hours.  And the pretty Miss Mary, too.  You are all going with me in a little to my own country.  You will not guess how.  We call it the Underground Railway, and you will have the privilege of studying its working. . . .  I had not troubled much about you, for I had no special dislike of you.  You are only a blundering fool, what you call in your country easy fruit.’

‘I thank you, Graf,’ Blenkiron said solemnly.