The man went out. Cantor stood grimly gazing after him.
“What is it?” von Essen asked, with fear. “What has happened?”
“She mentioned a name,” said Cantor. “Not a man in America knew that name was mine—not even von Bernstorff before he went home. But one man in Germany knew it. Adolf von Arnheim was reported killed in battle.... Where did you hear that name?” he said, turning again to Hildegarde.
“I sha’n’t tell.”
“Who else knows what you know? Who told it to you?”
“I sha’n’t tell.”
Her father uttered a sound of fury and stumbled toward her.
“Von Essen,” said Cantor, sharply, “this is my affair.”
He paced up and down the room for ten minutes, and none of the three spoke. Herman von Essen stood panting, glaring at his daughter. Hildegarde leaned upon the table, hands spread far apart, and watched Cantor. Another ten minutes passed. Then Heinrich returned.
“Well?” said Cantor.