None of the four moved as the train slowed down. Then the Germans stood up, releasing the others. “We leave here, Herren,” said the leader. “This is our address if you wish to carry matters further.” They both bowed, flung down their cards, and stepped out through the door that the guard opened for them.
Left alone, Ferreira and Topham arose slowly. Topham was humiliated and intensely angry, but he saw the futility of engaging in a further contest at that moment. In fact, he scarcely knew what to do. The crisis had come with such bewildering suddenness, and had been so surprising both in its inception and its results, that it had taken away his breath, both actually and figuratively. That such a thing should happen in a German railway carriage, of all places in the world, was to him almost too amazing for belief.
Meanwhile Ferreira had snatched up the cards. “They shall die for this,” he hissed. “Madre de Dios! But they shall die. I have friends here. They will act for you too, Senor Topham! Come! Let us seek them!” He made as if to leave the train.
But Topham shook his head. “Not for me,” he declared. “I don’t fight duels, not when I’m on duty, anyhow. Besides, I see little cause. They bested us fairly. Anyhow, it’s too late now.”
As a matter of fact, the train was moving again.
The Brazilian hesitated. Then suddenly he tore the cards to pieces and flung them out of the window. “So be it, Senor!” he acceded.
Topham glanced down at his clothes and found them whole, though badly rumpled. Suddenly he started, just as he had on the steamer the night he left New York, and thrust his hands into his inner pocket; then dropped it weakly to his side.
At his blank look Ferreira cried out: “You are hurt, senor!” he exclaimed.
Slowly the color came back to Topham’s face. “No!” he said. “Not—not—hurt! You—you don’t see an envelope—a big blue envelope—lying around anywhere, do you?” Dazedly he peered under the seats.
Ferreira aided him. “I hope it was not valuable, senor!” he ventured.