“Undesirables!” Birnier’s lips tightened. “I am afraid that I do not understand you.” The lieutenant was engaged in carefully stoking his cigar. “Will you kindly afford me a reason for—for such an insulting remark?”
Zu Pfeiffer blew smoke luxuriously. Birnier stared for a moment, stuck his pipe in his mouth and bit the stem; removed it and snapped:
“You can have no adequate reason for such action.… If you intend to continue this ridiculous farce I shall be compelled to make a complaint through Washington.”
“Washington?” Zu Pfeiffer removed one leg [pg 40] from the chair-rest and the cigar from his mouth. “You are an American?”
“I am.”
“So? We understood that you were an English agent. You have papers?”
“Certainly. If you wish——”
“We do not demand. No. My agent was wrong. He shall be punished.” Then in an amiable voice: “I, too, have been a long time in America. Please to have a cigar, Mr. Birnier.”
Birnier hesitated, puzzled.
“Thank you,” he said diffidently, selected one, bit off the end and spat it into the corner. Zu Pfeiffer shuddered delicately; but as Birnier lighted his cigar he studied his face in the glow of the match; noted the breadth of the jaw, the width between the eyes and the slightly hard line at the corner of the mouth.