Meyer darted a sidelong glance at the American, and scribbled something in his book.
"Remember," he said, "that you may be called upon to substantiate that statement, and that false information——"
"He must be referring to Martha," broke in one of the attendant officers.
"Martha!" cried Trafford delightedly. "Yes, I believe that was her name. In return for half a krone she told me more in five minutes about instruments of torture than my wildest imagination had conceived possible."
"You have seen no one else?" rapped out the General.
"Till you arrived I have not seen a soul."
Meyer glanced round the room carefully. He looked under the several tables whereon the exhibits were displayed; he put his head up the great stone fireplace; his glance swept past the Iron Maiden, but it rested on it for a fraction of a second only.
"She is not here," he announced decisively, "this gentleman has been speaking the truth."
"A foolish habit of mine, but ineradicable," murmured Trafford ironically.
Meyer readjusted his eye-glass and turned, smiling, to the American.