The man nodded. He held his little girl in his arm, as though he could not bear to let her be away from him again. A look of what seemed to be pride crept over his face; it meant something that his was the only factory that had been kept running, simply because his foreign hands did not have to go when the call to the Belgian colors came.
"It is because I have the confidence of the German government that I am allowed to continue my works," he said in a low tone, as though not wishing others to hear what he was saying.
"It is very strange," continued Rob, bound to learn the worst immediately, now that such a golden opportunity had come along, "but it was to see a man connected with your business that we came all the way from Antwerp. His name is Mr. Steven Meredith, who was over in America not so many months ago."
It was apparent that they were going to meet with a keen disappointment; Rob knew this the second he saw the shade of regret pass over the rubicund face of Herr Haskins.
"Ah! that is really too bad," the stout man exclaimed; "for you are just one week too late!"
"Has he left Sempst, then?" asked Merritt sturdily.
"Just seven days ago he shook hands with me, and said I could look for him when I saw him again. That might be in a month, and it might be six, even Steven could not say. He simply had to obey his orders from his superiors. His interest in the works is not the only thing he follows, you understand."
"No," said Rob, mysteriously, looking carefully around, as though he wanted to make sure he was not overheard, "of course we know his other business. The General Staff has ordered him again on duty somewhere. It is too bad, because my friend here wishes to see Herr Meredith very much, indeed."
"I am sorry," remarked the stout man, in a hesitating way, and Rob knew that if he hoped to get any information from this source at all now was the time to strike—while the iron was hot.