“Hence your presence here, Johann Wolff?” Seaman asked, in an altered tone.
The visitor's expression remained unchanged except for the faint surprise which shone out of his blue eyes.
“Johann Wolff,” he repeated. “That is not my name. I am Ludwig Miller, and I know nothing of this matter beyond what I have told you. I am just a messenger.”
“Once in Vienna and twice in Cracow, my friend, we have met,” Seaman reminded him softly but very insistently.
The other shook his head gently. “A mistake. I have been in Vienna once many years ago, but Cracow never.”
“You have no idea with whom you are talking?”
“Herr Seaman was the name, I understood.”
“It is a very good name,” Seaman scoffed. “Look here and think.”
He undid his coat and waistcoat and displayed a plain vest of chamois leather. Attached to the left-hand side of it was a bronze decoration, with lettering and a number. Miller stared at it blankly and shook his head.
“Information Department, Bureau Twelve, password—'The Day is coming,'” Seaman continued, dropping his voice.