“Naturally,” Lessingham replied. “I had the great pleasure of arranging for your release.”
“Look here,” Richard went on, “I'm groping about a bit. I don't understand. Forgive me if I run off the track. I'm not forgetting our friendship, Maderstrom, or what I owe to you since you came and found me at Wittenburg. But for all that, you have served in the German Army and are an enemy, and I want to know what you are doing here, in England, in my brother-in-law's house.”
“No particular harm, Richard, I promise you,” Lessingham replied mildly.
“You are here under a false name!”
“Hamar Lessingham, if you do not mind,” the other assented. “I prefer my own name, but I do not fancy that the use of it would ensure me a very warm welcome over here just now. Besides,” he added, with a glance at Philippa, “I have to consider the friends whose hospitality I have enjoyed.”
In a shadowy sort of way the truth began to dawn upon Richard. His tone became grimmer and his manner more menacing.
“Maderstrom,” he said, “we met last under different circumstances. I will admit that I cut a poor figure, but mine was at least an honourable imprisonment. I am not so sure that yours is an honourable freedom.”
Philippa laid her hand upon her brother's arm.
“Dick, dear, do remember that they were starving you to death!” she begged.
“You would never have lived through it,” Helen echoed.