"Because you are a spy," replied Wilfred, fiercely; "and if I had my way I would put a bullet through you."
"Well, and why don't you?" mocked an Zwieten. "Do you see that iron box?--it is full of papers which might be of the greatest interest to you. Shoot me and take possession of it. Your Government would reward you--or hang you!"
"They'll hang you if they learn the truth. We are at war with the Boers, and you are a Boer spy. A word from me and you would be arrested."
"I dare say. There are enough documents in that box to hang me. I dare say you bribed Mazaroff and learned my business, also my address here as Mr. Jones. But I am not afraid--not that!" Van Zwieten snapped his fingers "You can walk out and call up the police if you like."
"And what is to prevent my doing so?"
"Two things. One is that I leave immediately for the Transvaal. Oh, yes, my work here is done, and well done. I have found out how unprepared you English are for this war. You talk big, but there is nothing at the back of it."
"Confound you!" cried Wilfred, his white face flushing, "you'll find out what is at the back of it when we hoist the British flag at Pretoria. What is the second thing?"
"Your brother. You love your brother, no doubt, Mr. Burton. He sails to-morrow with his regiment from Southampton. Quite so. Well, Mr. Burton, it is a good thing he is going. It is better he should be shot than hanged."
"Hanged!" Wilfred sprang from his seat with a bound.
"The morning after the murder," continued Van Zwieten, without taking any notice, "I examined the place where Malet was shot. Ah! you blind English, who see nothing even when it lies under your nose. I am Dutch. I am sharp. I looked--and looked--and I found this!" He slipped his hand into the open drawer of the desk and produced a heavy revolver of the army pattern. "This, Mr. Burton--with which your brother shot Mr. Malet."