“I gave it to the porter at the hotel,” Stewart explained. “Perhaps it wasn’t accepted, and he just kept the money.”
“That may be. But your postcard got through, as you no doubt know. It evidently caught the night mail and was delivered to Madame this morning.”
“Really,” stammered Stewart, wondering desperately if this was another trap, “I didn’t know—I didn’t think to ask——”
“Luckily Madame brought it with her in her hand-bag,” explained the other. “It offers a convincing confirmation of your story—the more convincing perhaps since you seem surprised that she preserved it. Ah, here she is now,” and he arose as the door opened and the girl came in. “Will you not sit down, madame?” he went on, courteously. “I pray that both of you will accept my sincere apologies for the inconvenience I have caused you. Believe me, it was one of war’s necessities.”
The girl glanced at the speaker curiously, his tone was so warm, so full of friendship; then she glanced at Stewart——
And Stewart, catching that glance, was suddenly conscious that his mouth was open and his eyes staring and his whole attitude that of a man struck dumb by astonishment. Hastily he bent over to retie a shoestring. But really, he told himself, he could not be blamed for being disconcerted—anybody would be disconcerted to be told suddenly that his most desperate lie was true! But how could it be true? How could there be any such postcard as the German had described? Was it just another trap?
“We understand, of course, that you were merely doing your duty,” the girl’s voice was saying; “what seemed unfair was that we should be the victims. Do I understand that—that you no longer suspect us?”
“Absolutely not; and I apologize for my suspicions.”
“Then we are at liberty to proceed?”
“You cannot in any event proceed to-night. I will pass you in the morning. And I hope you will not think that any discourtesy was intended to you as Americans. Germany is most anxious to retain the good-will of America. It will mean much to us in this struggle.”