“That’s all. I fell for one of their damnable schemes to get information. It was three years ago on the Mediterranean cruise of our Atlantic squadron. I met this woman in Marseilles.”
“Well?”
“She called herself the Countess de Matignon, and—I was a young lieutenant and—I couldn’t resist her. Nobody could. She wanted money and I gave her all I had; then I gambled to get more. She wanted information about the American fleet, about our guns and coast defences; unimportant things at first, but pretty soon they were important and—I was crazy about her and—swamped with debts and—I yielded. Within six months she owned me. I was a German spy, mighty well paid, too. God!”
I stared at him in dismay. I could not speak.
“Well, after the war broke out between Germany and America last April, this woman came to New York and got her clutches on me deeper than ever. I gave her some naval secrets, and six weeks ago I told her all I knew about Widding’s invention. You see what kind of a dog I am,” he concluded bitterly.
“Ryerson, why have you told me this?” I asked searchingly.
“Why?” He flashed a straightforward look out of his handsome eyes. “Because I’m sick of the whole rotten game. I’ve played my cards and lost. I’m sure to be found out—some navy man will recognise me, in spite of this moustache, and—you know what will happen then. I’ll be glad of it, but—before I quit the game I want to do one decent thing. I’m going to tell you where they’ve taken Edison.”
“You know where Edison is?”
“Yes. Don’t speak so loud.”
Ryerson leaned closer and whispered: “He’s in Richmond, Virginia.”