“It is very nice of you,” she murmured. “Why do you tell me this now?” “Why, indeed?” he answered. “What have I to hope for?” She looked along the deck. Not a dozen yards away, two cigar ends burned red through the gloom. She knew very well that those cigar ends belonged to Streuss and his friend. She laughed softly and once more she bent her head. “How they watch you, those men!” she said. “Listen, my friend Rudolph. Supposing their fears were true, supposing I were really a spy, supposing I offered you wealth and with it whatever else you might claim from me, for the secret which you carry to England!” “How do you know that I am carrying a secret?” he asked hoarsely. She laughed. “My friend,” she said, “with your two absurd companions shadowing you all the time and glowering at me, how could one possibly doubt it? The Baron Streuss is, I believe, the Chief of your Secret Service Department, is he not? To me he seems the most obvious policeman I ever saw dressed as a gentleman.” “You don’t mean it!” he muttered. “You can’t mean what you said just now!” She was silent for a few moments. Some one passing struck a match, and she caught a glimpse of the white face of the man who sat by her side—strained now and curiously intense. “Supposing I did!” “You must be mad!” he declared. “You must not talk to me like this, Mademoiselle. I have no secret. It is your humor, I know, but it is dangerous.” “There is no danger,” she murmured, “for we are alone. I say again, Rudolph, supposing this were true?” His hand passed across his forehead. She fancied that he made a motion as though to rise to his feet, but she laid her hand upon his. “Stay here,” she whispered. “No, I do not wish to drive you away. Now you are here you shall listen to me.” “But you are not in earnest!” he faltered. “Don’t tell me that you are in earnest. It is treason. I am Rudolph Von Behrling, Secretary to the Chancellor.” Again she leaned towards him so that he could see into her eyes. “Rudolph,” she said, “you are indeed
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