The pallor of her face when the man from the kitchen brought the water was almost convincing proof of the truth of Hammersley’s statement. She did look ill, for terror of the situation that confronted them had driven the blood back to her heart. A moment ago the room had seemed so friendly, and now every object in it was a menace. And above the mantel the Emperor of Germany with his upturned mustaches glared down at her austerely, eloquent of the relentless forces that held them in their thrall. Behind her she heard Cyril whispering with the man who had brought the water and realized that it was the tall soldier with the lame leg who had brought her toast and eggs upstairs.
“Danke sehr, Lindberg,” Cyril said aloud. “She is tired from the journey.”
“Perhaps, Herr Hammersley, a little fresh air will help. A stroll in the kitchen garden.”
Doris got up in sudden relief as she understood.
“Yes,” she said. “Perhaps I will feel better in the air.”
Cyril led the way to the door and together they went out. They heard sounds of heavy footsteps in the hallway above but did not pause, making their way along the path which led around the house. Cyril did not turn toward her, but she heard him speaking.
“They will call us back. Do not be frightened. If von Stromberg questions again, answer to the best of your ability. I will find a means of reaching your room tonight. In the meanwhile keep up your courage.”
She did not reply for she heard steps behind her, and turning, found Captain Wentz, who bowed, taking off his cap.
“General von Stromberg requests me to ask,” he said in very good English, “if Miss Mather will not give him the pleasure of joining him in a cup of chocolate.”