“Oh!” she gasped in horror. A new idea of the terrible possibilities of duplicity was borne to her. But she couldn’t believe.
“How do you know this?” she asked.
He laughed.
“It’s one of the things I stopped in London to find out.”
“Then you——”
“I am a German spy.”
“I don’t believe you,” she cried proudly. There was a note of joy in her voice, a momentary note which seemed to trail off into one of terror. “Cyril!” she whispered. “Rizzio! He wrote me to come here.”
“I knew it.”
“But he said he——” she hesitated. “Why did he want me to come? There must have been some other reasons besides wanting me to see—he’s here, Cyril—somewhere——”