indications I’m not at all sure you are not the man.”
With sudden perspicacity, I realized that he took me for an emissary of the great Blenheim. Exasperation overwhelmed me; would these farcical complications never cease?
“Good heavens, man,” I exclaimed with conviction, “you are crazy! Look at me! Use your common-sense! What on earth is there about me to suggest a spy?”
“In a good spy there never is anything suggestive.”
By Jove, that was the very thing the secret-service man had said!
“You admit you were born abroad. You claim to be bound for France, but you sail for Italy. And you are rather a soldier’s type, tall, well set-up, good military carriage. You’d make quite a showing in a field uniform, I should say.”
“In a fiddlestick!” I snapped, weary of the situation. “So would you—so would our friend the Italian reservist there. I’m an average American, free, white, and twenty-one, with strong pro-Ally sympathies and a passport in perfect shape. This is all nonsense, but of course there is something back of it. What has been your real reason for deviling me ever since I entered this room?”
The lieutenant was studying my face.
“Mr. Bayne,” he said slowly, “do you care to tell me the nature of the package you threw across the rail the first night out?”
I heard a gasp from the group behind me, a squeal of joy from McGuntrie, a quick, low-drawn breath that surely came from the girl. Preternaturally cool, I thought rapidly.
“What’s that you say? Package?” I repeated, trying to gain time.
“Yes, package!” said the Englishman, sharply. “And we’ll dispense with pretense, please. These are war-times, and from common prudence the Allies keep an eye on all passengers who choose to sail instead of staying at home as we prefer they should. Captain Cecchi here reports to me that one of his stewards saw you drop a small weighted object overboard. He has asked me to interrogate you, instead of doing it himself, so that you may have the chance to defend yourself in English, which he doesn’t speak.”
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