“Was she never on board you in September?”
“No; I asked them both, but Dollmann made excuses.”
“But he—he came on board? You told me so.”
“Once; he asked himself to breakfast on the first day. By Jove! yes; you mean he saw the book?
“It explains a good deal.”
“It explains everything.”
We fell into deep reflexion for a minute or two.
“Do you really mean everything?” I said. “In that case let’s sail straight away and forget the whole affair. He’s only some poor devil with a past, whose secret you stumbled on, and, half mad with fear, he tried to silence you. But you don’t want revenge, so it’s no business of ours. We can ruin him if we like; but is it worth it?”
“You don’t mean a word you’re saying,” said Davies, “though I know why you say it; and many thanks, old chap. I didn’t mean ‘everything’. He’s plotting with Germans, or why did Grimm spy on us, and von Brüning cross-examine us? We’ve got to find out what he’s at, as well as who he is. And as to her—what do you think of her now?”
I made my amende heartily. “Innocent and ignorant,” was my verdict. “Ignorant, that is, of her father’s treasonable machinations; but aware, clearly, that they were English refugees with a past to hide.” I said other things, but they do not matter. “Only,” I concluded, “it makes the dilemma infinitely worse.”