“It leads to an inner room,” replied Paul, “where Steinmetz usually works.”
He passed in front of her and opened the door. As he was doing so Etta went on in the train of her thoughts:
“So Catrina knows?”
“Yes.”
“And no one else?”
Paul made no answer; for he had passed on into the smaller room, where Steinmetz was seated at a writing-table.
“Except, of course, Herr Steinmetz?” Etta went on interrogatively.
“Madame,” said the German, looking up with his pleasant smile, “I know every thing.”
And he went on writing.