“They don’t trust Dollmann,” I said. “I spotted that at Memmert even.”
“How?”
“First, when they were talking about you and me. He was on his defence, and in a deuce of a funk, too. Böhme was pressing him hard. Again, at the end, when he left the room followed by Grimm, who I’m certain was sent to watch him. It was while he was away that the other two arranged that rendezvous for the night of the 25th. And again just now, when you asked him to stay. I believe it’s working out as I thought it would. Von Brüning, and through him Böhme (who is the “engineer from Bremen”), know the story of that short cut and suspect that it was an attempt on your life. Dollmann daren’t confess to that, because, morality apart, it could only have been prompted by extreme necessity—that is, by the knowledge that you were really dangerous, and not merely an inquisitive stranger. Now we know his motive; but they don’t yet. The position of that book proves it.”
“He shoved it in?”
“To prevent them seeing it. There’s no earthly reason why they should have hidden it.”
“Then we’re getting on,” said Davies. “That shows they know his real name, or why should he shove the book in? But they don’t know he wrote a book, and that I have a copy.”
“At any rate he thinks they don’t; we can’t say more than that.”
“And what does he think about me—and you?”
“That’s the point. Ten to one he’s in tortures of doubt, and would give a fortune to have five minutes’ talk alone with you to see how the land lies and get your version of the short cut incident. But they won’t let him. They want to watch him in our company and us in his; you see it’s an interesting reunion for you and him.”
“Well, let’s get into these beastly clothes for it,” groaned Davis. “I shall have a plunge overboard.”