“Well, it will all come right in the end. Now, as there seems nothing urgent for me to do here, it is time I went to Antwerp.”
. . . . . . .
Eberhard Amelungen was unable to conceal his confusion, when an officer in the uniform of the Prussian General Staff appeared at the door of his private office.
Amelungen was a man about sixty years of age, a typical specimen of a substantial, respectable merchant.
“I am somewhat surprised, sir,” he said in measured tones. “What can I do for you?”
Heideck introduced himself, and without wasting words told him the reason of his visit.
“I have reason to believe, Herr Amelungen, that you hold in your hands some, if not all, of the chief meshes of a widespread net of espionage. And I think it would be to your interest to tell me the whole truth of your own accord. We know so much already that presumably it will be of little use to you to have recourse to lies.”
Amelungen played with his penholder, but his hands trembled visibly, and words failed him. His face had turned ashy pale, and Heideck could not help feeling sorry for him.
“I regret that my duty obliges me to proceed against you,” he continued. “I can easily understand your motives. You are a Netherlander and a patriot, and, as perhaps you do not quite understand the political situation, the occupation of your country by a foreign power appears to you an act of violence, which fills you with anger and hatred against us. Therefore I think I may promise you that you will be treated as leniently as possible, if you make my task easy by an open confession.”
Eberhard Amelungen shook his head.