Five minutes before midnight I led him up the stairs of my hotel and tip-toeing into a certain room, clicked on the light.
"See that door over there?" I whispered, pointing, "'tis the bathroom. Hide there. I shall be concealed in the wardrobe. In five minutes the conspirators will appear. The moment you hear me shout, 'Hands up, Otto von Schweinhund, le jeu est fait,' or words to that effect—burst out of the bathroom and collar the lady."
I pushed Wilbur into the bathroom (he was trembling slightly, excitement no doubt) and closed the door.
I had no sooner shut myself into the wardrobe when a man and a woman entered the room. They were both in full evening dress, the man was a handsome rascal, the woman a tall, languid beauty, gorgeously dressed. She flung herself down in a chair and lit a cigarette. The man carefully locked the door and crossed the room towards her.
"Hansa," he hissed, "did you get the plans of the fortress?"
She laughed and taking a packet of papers from the bosom of her dress, flung it on the table.
"'Twas easy, mon cher."
He caught it and held it aloft.
"Victory!" he cried. "The Vaterland is saved!"
He passed round the table and stood before her, his eyes glittering.