“The infernal fool! I have warned him repeatedly,” snarled Thorsensel. “He has been very thick lately with Kleinhans, the banker. I told him to take no chances with that man. I mentioned a few others too.”
“Some of 'em are straight, eh?” queried Scarf, a twist at the corner of his mouth that went for a sneer.
“Straight? No! Crooked as rattlesnakes! I wouldn't trust a man like Kleinhans out of my sight. He actually thinks he's an American,—and God knows that makes him worse than one. Well? Goon. What else?”
“That's all I know about Elberon. As for that other little matter,—” He stopped to wet his lips.
Zimmerlein muttered hoarsely: “Little matter!”
“I'm lucky, that's all,” said Scarf, and again passed his hand over his brow.
“Get on with it. You can't stay here all afternoon,” commanded Thorsensel.
“We came within an ace of dropping into a pit—a bottomless pit at that. Why didn't you tell me that secret service men were trailing him, Zimmerlein?”
“What? What's that you say?”
“Why, damn your eyes, Zimmerlein, that guy was suspected of giving information to the enemy. He's been watched like a hawk. We got onto it just in time. Don't you see what would have happened if they had followed us to his room? You don't, eh? Well, I'll tell you. We would have been nabbed with him,—before anything could have happened,—caught in the very net they were laying for him. His pals,—that's what they would have made of us,—his comrades, mind you, not his enemies. How the devil could we have explained? And would they have believed him, no matter what he said about us? Not on your life. The very thing they were watching for would have happened. A rendezvous! They would have had him dead to rights,—delivering information received earlier in the night to two German agents,—oh, what a diabolical joke it would have been on him, and what a devil of a mess we would have been in! God, I shiver every time I think of it,—and I've been shivering all day, let me tell you.”