“Hello, Dubra,” said the secret service chief. “Just dropped in to see how you are getting along.”
“They’re killing me,” cried the man on the bed. “My leg hurts so.”
“They’re doing no such thing,” replied Timms. “The doctor here is making every effort to save your worthless life. Have you got anything else to add to what you said the other night?”
Dubra’s eyes were bright with fever but his mind was clear and he shook his head.
Blatz kept well in the background. He had lost the ally Reikoff had told him he would have. Dubra, over-anxious to cause harm, had been caught and wounded. His usefulness as an agent of destruction was at an end and Blatz would have to go on alone. Perhaps it would be easier that way.
There was no more information to be had from the wounded Rubanian and they left the hospital. When they returned to the hotel, Blatz excused himself and went to his room. Timms signified his intention to do likewise but changed his mind when Andy insisted that they take a walk together.
“What’s the idea?” the secret service chief asked when they were well away from the hotel and walking in the open.
“It’s Blatz,” said Andy. “There’s something about him that doesn’t ring true.”
The assistant pilot of the Goliath related the incident of the afternoon with the fake story of the adventure at Friedrichshafen.
“That sounds a little fishy,” admitted Timms, “but that’s not enough to accuse a man of being a spy.”