“Curious!” he reflected. “One woman! And she probably sleeps well at nights and goes to church on Sundays!”
Clayton passed back his papers, and ran a hand over his heavy hair.
“They seem to be all right,” he said.
Dunbar rose.
“Hope the next news will be better, Mr. Spencer.”
“I hope so.”
“I haven't told you, I think, that we have traced Rudolph Klein.”
Clayton's face set.
“He's got away, unfortunately. Over the border into Mexico. They have a regular system there, the Germans—an underground railway to Mexico City. They have a paymaster on our side of the line. They even bank in one of our banks! Oh, we'll get them yet, of course, but they're damnably clever.”
“I suppose there is no hope of getting Rudolph Klein?”