The man was shaken. His face was gray, and his fear was of Cantor.
“There was no paper, nothing. I examined the window. There are footprints underneath—in the snow. Some one climbed the tree. There are marks on the window-sill.”
“Were there footprints yesterday?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Johann is sure.”
Cantor waved the man away and approached the table.
“Miss von Essen,” he said, “I have got to know who entered your room last night. I have got to know who says that I am Adolf von Arnheim. It is necessary for me to know, so that I can act. Who was the man?”
She only shook her head.
“What I don’t understand,” Cantor said, as if to himself, “is why you were told.... If they know, why haven’t they acted? What does it mean?”