Maraton felt himself suddenly at the edge of the world. He leaned over and looked into the abyss called hell. For a moment he shivered; then he set his teeth.
"Go on," he repeated.
"Maxendorf and I have spoken many times of the future of this country. The dream which he outlined for you, he has spoken of to me with glittering eyes, with heaving chest, with trembling voice. It was his scheme that I should take you to him. You, too, believed as I did. To-night I visited him. I stepped in upon the one weak moment of his life. He needed a confidant. He was bursting with joy and triumph. He showed me his heart; he showed me the great and terrible hatred which burns there for England and everything English. The people's man, he calls himself! He is for the people of his own country and his own country only! You and I have been the tools of his crafty schemes. This country, if he possesses it, he will occupy as a conqueror. He will set his heel upon it. He will demand the greatest indemnity of all times. And every penny of it will flow into his beloved land. We thought that the dawn had come, we poor, miserable and deluded victims of his craft. We are dooming the people of this country to generations of slavery!"
Maraton for a moment sat quite still. When he spoke, his tone was singularly matter-of-fact.
"Where is Maxendorf?" he asked.
"Still at the hotel. The Embassy was not ready, and he has made excuses. He is more his own master there."
Maraton turned to Ernshaw.
"Ernshaw," he begged, "wait here for me. Wait."
He took up his hat and left the room. Selingman stood almost as though he were praying.
"Now," he muttered, "is the time for the strong man!"