“Nothing would please me better,” his chum told him between his set teeth. “Because in that event I might have a chance, sooner or later, of examining his pockets, and finding out if he is still carrying that stolen paper around with him.”
“You seem to believe he didn’t turn it in to the German Embassy at Washington, from the way you talk.”
“I imagine he counts it only a bite,” Tom continued, reflectively; “and feels that they would blame him for not securing the entire design while about it. So he keeps the paper on his person, and continues to hope he may yet be able to find the rest—perhaps by robbing me. There may be another way of looking at it though.”
“How?” asked Jack, still munching away.
“Adolph Tuessig may have his orders direct from the Wilhelmstrasse headquarters in Berlin. Perhaps he’s on his way there now to make his report, and deliver over his finding. If that happens to be the case I hope he never arrives there—that either the British or the French discover his double character, and arrest him.”
“What do you suppose they’d do with him, Tom?”
“If the proof of his being a spy could be found he’d be executed without any doubt. That’s the way they do things over here these days, Jack.”
“There, he’s lifted up his check to look at it, Tom, still keeping his face turned partly away. I believe he’s preparing to slip out by passing among those tables on the further side of the restaurant. Shall we try to waylay him, and get a look at his face?”
Tom picked up their own check quickly.
“There he goes, now, and if you follow me I’ll fix it so we can rub up against him near the exit. We can’t do anything to bring about his arrest but it’ll be a little satisfaction to let the slippery rascal understand we’re up to his game.”