“I can only say, Excellenz,” said Rizzio, when the man went out, “that I am willing to abide by your verdict.”
“Even though it should be unfavorable to yourself?” growled von Stromberg.
“That, Excellenz, is quite impossible.”
“I have known stranger things to happen. The worst aspect of your case is that Herr Hammersley is here. There was no need for him to come. You yourself admit that. He had only to stay in England to devote his talents to a more congenial occupation.” Von Stromberg puffed on his cigar and leaned across the table. “Can you tell me why Herr Hammersley came to Germany? Answer me correctly, Rizzio, and I will give you every masterpiece in Belgium.”
Rizzio frowned into the fire.
“I cannot say,” he replied. “I have admitted that he has puzzled me. I can only think of one thing. Hammersley is a type of man who under the guise of inefficiency does all things well. He is a sportsman. He would do such a thing for the love of adventure, because the danger, the excitement, appealed to him—because it was the ‘sporting thing.’”
“A reason, Rizzio,” muttered von Stromberg, “but not the real reason.”
Rizzio started and a smile broke at the corners of his lips.
“Oh! You realize, then, that there is something else—something——?” He paused.
“I realize nothing,” growled the General. “Realization, Rizzio, is the one banality of existence! Uncertainty is the only thing worth while. When one is certain of anything it ceases to be interesting. That is why Herr Hammersley, whom you call a fool in one breath and a genius in the next, excites my profound attention. Come, I think you will agree with me that he is worth it.”