"Excellenz, he must have changed greatly, if he is, indeed, the man mentioned here!"
"You fool!" von Kuhne thrust at him; "of course he is the same man! We are speaking of Treves, and no other!"
"He must have changed, Excellenz!" protested Manwitz. "Treves, as I knew him, would never have had the nerve to act against us. I impressed upon him, Excellenz, what the punishment for treachery would be, and he values his own skin above all things in the world."
"Perhaps almost as much as you value yours!" added von Kuhne, with a sneer of contempt. "I have to warn you, Manwitz, I shall expect you to act decisively and without reservation! The Fatherland requires that this man who has betrayed us shall expiate his treachery! Do you get my meaning?"
"Yes, Excellenz."
"You will understand," he said, looking from one to the other, "that I am speaking officially and in my capacity as director of intelligence. You will obey me"—his eyes turned towards Cherriton—"as though we were upon the sacred soil of the Fatherland!"
He was standing at the table, resting one hand on the cloth. He spoke as a judge pronouncing a sentence, and in the eyes of von Rathenau and Manwitz he was, indeed, this. They took orders from him as inferior officers receiving orders from a general of division. "The removal of this man is an act of mere military justice. My orders are that you, Manwitz, and you, Baron von Rathenau, administer this just sentence!" He was passing what amounted to sentence of death on Bernard Treves. In doing this he felt no qualm, no sensitive doubt whatever. If he had occupied an English town in his true character as a German general in command, he would have put to death a hundred persons for not a tithe of the crime that John had committed against him. In sentencing John to death, in appointing Cherriton and Manwitz his executioners, he was carrying out what to him was a just, even a moderate law. He had been brought up to slaughter; he had been taught from boyhood to crush the Fatherland's enemies. To intimidate by frightfulness was the highest German ideal. He was a typical military German—that is, a typical cold-blooded murderer. He crossed to the bell now and jangled it again—this time not quite so sharply.
"My orders," he said to Cherriton, over his shoulder, "are to be carried out as expeditiously as possible. I leave the method in your hands." He turned his eyes upon Manwitz. "I shall expect you to co-operate in the work, Manwitz!"
At that moment Conrad presented himself in the door-way.
"Tell Mr. Treves to come in," said von Kuhne.