Klein shook his head.
"He will not part with it," said he. "He is a desperate man."
"I will make him part with it," cried Harry, "once I run the rascal to earth."
"He is a desperate man," repeated the other. "He dare not return to Germany. He would be court-martialled, and probably shot. He will not part with the Sunstone at a lesser price than his life."
"I am sorry for him," said Harry, "because he is doubly a traitor. When the guest of the British nation he was to all intents and purposes a spy; he swindled you; and now, in the midst of war, he proves himself a traitor once again."
Peter Klein was silent, his thin fingers playing nervously. The strain of the past few days had seriously affected his health; he was suffering from a kind of St. Vitus's dance. He was never still for a moment.
"It is strange," said he, "that you think so much of the Sunstone. Long since I had forgotten all about it. I have now but one idea—to get back to Europe, if I can. I dare not return to my home, which is in Frankfort. I intend to end my days in Denmark."
It was then that somewhere in the forest, near at hand, a twig broke. Both sprang instantly to their feet.
A dark figure came suddenly out of the thickets, and Urquhart, with his finger upon the trigger of his revolver, was about to fire, when he was arrested by a voice.
"Is that you, Mr. Harry?"