“Your liver’s out of order, my dear,” said her father. “Take a pill when you go to bed to-night.”
“No,” said the girl, “it’s not that. I know you would say I was ill—that is why I asked the Professor to examine me. I am sure it means something!”
Captain Sergeantson threw the end of his cigar into the fireplace and took a wallet out of his pocket. The wallet contained photographs. He handed them to the girl.
“Miss Forsdyke,” he said, gravely, “would you mind telling me if you have ever seen any of these people?”
The girl examined them. Suddenly she uttered a cry and held up one of the prints.
“This!” she said. Her eyes were wide with astonishment. “This is the man I saw!—There’s the scar, too—exactly!—Who is he? Do you know him?”
“That man,” replied Captain Sergeantson, sententiously, “is Karl Wertheimer. About the cutest spy the German Secret Service ever had.—I was going to tell Jimmy a story about him and brought his picture along with me,” he added in explanation. “I sort of recognized him from your description.”
The girl stared at the photograph.
“Of course,” continued Sergeantson, “he made up over that scar. He was an extraordinarily clever actor, by the way. They cleaned off the make-up when they took the photograph.”
“And he is a German spy!” mused the girl, still staring at the picture.