“Under what circumstances did you first meet Herr Radwig?”
Jack, greatly surprised, hesitated. Would it be wise to tell everything? How under the sun did this man in the gray mask know so much?
“Remember, the truth.”
Jack thought quickly. The question implied that this officer had some knowledge of his dealings with Radwig. Possibly, also, the officer was about to test the value of his declaration that he told the truth. So Jack figured. But was this not an amazing illustration of the wonderful efficiency and thoroughness of the German Secret Service.
“Speak!” came the imperative command.
“Very well,” replied Jack calmly. “It was on the Kronprinzessin Emilie. It seemed that we were about to be dashed to pieces on floating icebergs. Some shrieked:
“‘The Titanic!’
“‘The boats!’ shouted a man. He violently pushed two women aside, wedged in the panic-stricken throng. I stood at the head of the companion way. The man told me to get out of the way. I tried to calm the people. But this man seemed to have lost his reason. He rushed at me, trying to strike me. I was too quick for him. I struck first. He staggered back, subdued. It was only later that I learned this man’s name.”
“And then—how and when did you meet Herr Radwig?”
So Jack had to relate incident after incident. Always, at the end of a recital, came the same question, asked in the same matter-of-fact tone of voice: