Joseph moistened his lips. He was still feeling sore and dizzy, but he began to see his way.
"You noticed, perhaps," he said, "the American girl—the beautiful young lady with this guy's friends? She was waiting with the others for Captain Graham to come down. I saw her go up the stairs. I saw her come down again, three minutes later."
"Miss Van Teyl?" Fischer exclaimed, with a frown. "You're mad, Joseph!"
The negro laughed grimly.
"Am I!" he retorted. "I tell you this, Master Fischer. She was in Berlin where I was, and she was at the Embassy every day. She was asked to leave there. They put her over the frontier into Holland. I knew her when she came into the restaurant. She's no society young lady, she ain't! Bet you she was on to the goods."
Fischer hesitated for a moment. The thoughts were chasing one another through his brain. Then he took up the receiver from the telephone instrument which stood upon the table.
"1560 Mayfair," he asked in a low tone.
They all stood listening, grouped around Graham's writhing figure.
"Hullo! Is that Claridge's Hotel?" Fischer went on. "I am speaking from
Giro's. Put me through, if you please, to Miss Van Teyl's apartments…
What? Repeat that, will you?… Thank you."
Fischer laid down the receiver. He turned towards the others. He was breathing a little quickly, and his eyes glittered behind his gold-rimmed spectacles.