stars into unconsciousness.
He awoke again with a splitting headache to find himself lying on a mattress on the floor,
he felt the rough cement, in some place which was nearly dark except for a faint light which
trickled in through a barred horizontal slit high above his head. He puzzled over this for some
time before he realized that he was in a cellar and that the light came through a pavement
grating, probably from a street lamp. His head cleared gradually and he realized that he was
desperately thirsty. He sat up, setting his teeth as the darkness whirled round him.
“In all the best dungeons,” he said unsteadily, “the prisoner is provided with a jug of
water and a mouldy crust of bread.”
He felt cautiously about, found a jug of generous size and took a long pull at the water;
he soaked his handkerchief and dabbed his head with it, a refreshing moment, though it revealed
that the back of his skull was horribly tender.
“I’ve been sandbagged,” he said, and lay back to think things over as clearly as his aching
head would permit.
“I remember,” he said at last. “They shot von Einem. Wonder what they’re going to do
with me?”
He felt in his pockets. His automatic had gone and so had his electric torch, but so far as
he could tell everything else was there, even his money and his watch.
“Of course, they can always collect the cash from my unresisting corpse afterwards,” he
said aloud. “Delicate-minded people, these, evidently.”
There came a pleasant voice in the darkness from somewhere high up in the wall opposite
his feet. “I do hope you are feeling better,” it said, in English.
“Thank you,” said Denton with a slight gasp. “I survive—so far.”
“I hope you will many years survive—survive many years. You must excuse my
awkward English, it is so many years since I spoke it.”
“Please don’t apologize—”
“I do not want to tease you,” said the voice, jerkily and with pauses, as of a man recalling
a language long disused. “I hope to get you out of this mess, unless they liquidate me next, which
seems quite likely.”
“Heaven preserve you,” said Denton with feeling.
“ Danke schön . I am sorry we had to hit you quite so hard, but we should not have got you
away had they not you dead—thought you dead. Only dead men pass unquestioned to-night.”
“But how did you know I was there?”
“I did not, till you looked out of the window. I came to—to succour von Einem.”
“Then you were the friend for whom he was waiting?” asked Denton, unconsciously
reverting to German.
“I was, but I was too late. Would you mind speaking in English, it is such a pleasure to
me to hear it—especially to-night.”
“Of course. May I ask who you are?”
“I cannot answer that. I wish I could, but you understand that it would not be safe for
anyone to know.”
“You are the man I was sent to find, are you not?”
“Yes. I think that stupid a little, you must all know that it would endanger me, and what
is worse, spoil my usefulness.”
“My instructions were not to seek you out but to place myself where you could find me if
I could be of service. I was to say that the Department is inconceivably grateful—”
“But devoured by curiosity, eh?” said Hambledon with a laugh. “I am afraid they must
eat themselves a little longer, but tell them that one of these days I will come back and report, if
Goering doesn’t scupper me first. My English is reviving. Tell me some news, will you?”
A little whisper of suspicion rose in the back of Denton’s mind. Set the victim’s mind at
rest and then question him.
“Certainly,” he said cheerfully. “What sort of news?”
“Is Jose Collins still alive?”
“She was last week, I saw some mention of her in the Sphere . And a photograph.”
“I daren’t be seen reading the English papers,” murmured Hambledon. “Do you know
Hampshire?”
“Parts of it.”
“Is Weatherley
He awoke again with a splitting headache to find himself lying on a mattress on the floor,
he felt the rough cement, in some place which was nearly dark except for a faint light which
trickled in through a barred horizontal slit high above his head. He puzzled over this for some
time before he realized that he was in a cellar and that the light came through a pavement
grating, probably from a street lamp. His head cleared gradually and he realized that he was
desperately thirsty. He sat up, setting his teeth as the darkness whirled round him.
“In all the best dungeons,” he said unsteadily, “the prisoner is provided with a jug of
water and a mouldy crust of bread.”
He felt cautiously about, found a jug of generous size and took a long pull at the water;
he soaked his handkerchief and dabbed his head with it, a refreshing moment, though it revealed
that the back of his skull was horribly tender.
“I’ve been sandbagged,” he said, and lay back to think things over as clearly as his aching
head would permit.
“I remember,” he said at last. “They shot von Einem. Wonder what they’re going to do
with me?”
He felt in his pockets. His automatic had gone and so had his electric torch, but so far as
he could tell everything else was there, even his money and his watch.
“Of course, they can always collect the cash from my unresisting corpse afterwards,” he
said aloud. “Delicate-minded people, these, evidently.”
There came a pleasant voice in the darkness from somewhere high up in the wall opposite
his feet. “I do hope you are feeling better,” it said, in English.
“Thank you,” said Denton with a slight gasp. “I survive—so far.”
“I hope you will many years survive—survive many years. You must excuse my
awkward English, it is so many years since I spoke it.”
“Please don’t apologize—”
“I do not want to tease you,” said the voice, jerkily and with pauses, as of a man recalling
a language long disused. “I hope to get you out of this mess, unless they liquidate me next, which
seems quite likely.”
“Heaven preserve you,” said Denton with feeling.
“ Danke schön . I am sorry we had to hit you quite so hard, but we should not have got you
away had they not you dead—thought you dead. Only dead men pass unquestioned to-night.”
“But how did you know I was there?”
“I did not, till you looked out of the window. I came to—to succour von Einem.”
“Then you were the friend for whom he was waiting?” asked Denton, unconsciously
reverting to German.
“I was, but I was too late. Would you mind speaking in English, it is such a pleasure to
me to hear it—especially to-night.”
“Of course. May I ask who you are?”
“I cannot answer that. I wish I could, but you understand that it would not be safe for
anyone to know.”
“You are the man I was sent to find, are you not?”
“Yes. I think that stupid a little, you must all know that it would endanger me, and what
is worse, spoil my usefulness.”
“My instructions were not to seek you out but to place myself where you could find me if
I could be of service. I was to say that the Department is inconceivably grateful—”
“But devoured by curiosity, eh?” said Hambledon with a laugh. “I am afraid they must
eat themselves a little longer, but tell them that one of these days I will come back and report, if
Goering doesn’t scupper me first. My English is reviving. Tell me some news, will you?”
A little whisper of suspicion rose in the back of Denton’s mind. Set the victim’s mind at
rest and then question him.
“Certainly,” he said cheerfully. “What sort of news?”
“Is Jose Collins still alive?”
“She was last week, I saw some mention of her in the Sphere . And a photograph.”
“I daren’t be seen reading the English papers,” murmured Hambledon. “Do you know
Hampshire?”
“Parts of it.”
“Is Weatherley
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