"Lady Dennisford," I said earnestly, "for his sake, for mine, bear up. Don't let me have to call for the servants. We are both in danger. Your people will probably be questioned."
"I will be brave," she answered with quivering lips; "but what did it mean—at Saxby then? Why, there was a funeral!"
"He was hard-pressed," I told her, "and it was the only way to save him.
Be brave, Lady Dennisford, for I have come to you for help!"
"I will do everything you ask me to," she answered. "But tell me one thing more. He is alive!"
"He is in London," I answered. "He would have come himself, but the risk would have been greater. Will you listen to what I have to say?"
"Go on," she answered. "I am ready."
"You know what happened to him in Berlin fifteen years ago," I began. "He suffered for another's fault, but he suffered. His career was over, he was left with but two objects in life. One was a desire to reinstate himself; another, hatred for the country whose spies had brought ruin upon him. He changed his identity, but he remained at Berlin. For years he met with no success. Then fortune favored him. By chance he picked up one of the threads of the most cunning, the most cruel, the most skilfully thought-out plots against this country which the secret history of the world had ever known. He escaped to London, but spies were already on his track. I saved him from death once, and from that moment I, too, was drawn into the vortex. Let me tell you exactly what has happened to us since we joined forces."
Lady Dennisford was a good listener. I gave her, in as few words as possible, a faithful account of our adventures, and she never once interrupted me with a single question. When I had finished, she was perfectly calm and self-possessed.
"It is the most wonderful story I have ever heard," she declared with glowing eyes.
"The most wonderful part of it, from our point of view, is to come," I answered grimly. "We have a fair amount of proof, and we have laid all the facts before the Foreign Secretary and the Prime Minister."