“I know nothing of what you charge me with,” he said feebly. “You have the power, and can do as you please with me. But I have nothing to confess.”
“Not if I tell you that my information comes from the mouth of your own son?”
The merchant stared at the speaker with wide-open eyes full of anxiety.
“From the mouth of my own son? But—I have no son.”
“Then M. Camille Penurot also was lying when he said you were his father?”
“For God’s sake be merciful! Don’t torture me! What is the matter with Camille? Where is he?”
“He has been caught spying. What will happen to him depends on your own behaviour.”
Eberhard Amelungen sank back in his stool in a state of collapse.
“My God! you don’t mean to put him in prison? or to shoot him?”
“As you may imagine, his fate is not in my hands alone. But in this instance my influence may perhaps be considerable, and it would certainly have weight if I threw it into the scale in your favour and his. Therefore I again ask you to consider whether, as things are, it would not be best for you to be perfectly frank with me. Those who are behind you can no longer protect you, and your only hope lies in the leniency of the German authorities. Do not reject the possibility of securing this leniency.”