Doris sat without moving, but her brain was busy weighing Rizzio.
“No,” she replied calmly, “I don’t. Won’t you tell me?”
He leaned forward toward her along the back of their seat, his look and voice concentrated upon her.
“Is it possible,” he continued, “that you haven’t realized by this time exactly what Cyril Hammersley is?”
“No,” she said staunchly. “I will believe nothing of him unless he tells it to me himself.”
He waited a moment, watching her, and fancied that he saw her lips tremble slightly. Her loyalty to Hammersley inflamed him. He followed up his advantage quickly.
“There are reasons why I should dislike to give you pain, greater reasons why I should be generous with a successful rival, and I have done what I can to take this matter out of your hands. There is still time. Will you give me that packet?”
She shook her head.
“Then I must speak,” he went on. “My duty demands it, whatever happens to him—whatever happens to you. Don’t make me go to extremes with you. I cannot bear to do it. Hammersley is a German spy. Those papers were to be forwarded to Germany. You are saving them for him, that he may betray England.”
“That is not true,” she said chokingly. “I do not believe it.”