She examined him curiously, wondering whether he were not perhaps a little demented. But at the door he bowed and disappeared and she heard the key turn in the lock. He was apparently not too demented to forget that she was a prisoner.
She was not hungry but she knew that she must eat something to keep up her strength for any ordeal that was in store for her, so she drew a chair to the table and sat, pouring out the chocolate in the cup and helping herself to the eggs.
All the while she thought of the strange behavior of her servitor. Why did he lay such stress upon the excellence of the dry toast? And why because it was dry? She raised a piece of it with her fingers and examined it, lifted the second piece, when a gasp of surprise escaped her. Above the third piece of toast, folded neatly, was a thin strip of paper. She glanced toward the door and window and then getting up from the table and going to a spot where observation of her actions was impossible, opened the slip of paper. It was in Cyril’s hand.
Don’t be frightened [she read]. You are to be questioned. Follow these instructions. I made copy of message in Heathcote library night of dinner while waiting for you to get wraps. I hid it in right sash of motor. Copy and original of message the same. You and I are enemies. Therefore ignore me. Rizzio acted for Scotland Yard. As to the rest tell truth exactly and no harm can come to me. I will find means later to communicate. Burn this immediately.
Her heart beating high, she read the paper through twice to familiarize herself with the instructions which she perfectly understood. Then she found a matchbox on the candlestick, put the paper in the hearth and burned it. After that she sat at the table and ate. It was there that Captain von Winden found her some moments later when he came to request her presence in the room on the ground floor.
During the time that Doris slept, in the living-room downstairs General von Stromberg sat with John Rizzio. A peaceful winter landscape looked in at the windows, the sun slanted in a yellow rhomboid upon the floor, a cheerful fire was burning upon the hearth and General von Stromberg, his left hand tapping gently upon the back of his right, was gravely listening to John Rizzio’s story. All of the pieces of the little game were upon the board. He was now about to move them skillfully from one square to another until only one piece remained, and that one piece, the victor in all such games, was—himself.
“And what was his manner,” went on von Stromberg, “when you showed your credentials?”
“He was surprised—very much surprised—and I think alarmed.”
“And what arguments did you use to make him give the packet up?”