“What do you want?” he demanded bluntly.
He took a cigarette from a box on the table, lighted it, and then, with an air of finality, fixed his gaze upon the man, who eyed him with a kind of stupefied wonder. Then there flashed into the fellow’s bronzed face something of dignity and resentment. He stood perfectly erect with his felt hat clasped in his hand. His clothes were cheap, but clean, and his short coat was buttoned trimly about him.
“I want nothing, Mr. Armitage,” he replied humbly, speaking slowly and with a marked German accent.
“Then you will be easily satisfied,” said Armitage. “You said your name was—?”
“Oscar—Oscar Breunig.”
Armitage sat down and scrutinized the man again without relaxing his severity.
“You think you have seen me somewhere, so you have followed me in the streets to make sure. When did this idea first occur to you?”
“I saw you at Fort Myer at the drill last Friday. I have been looking for you since, and saw you leave your horse at the hotel this afternoon. You ride at Rock Creek—yes?”
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Breunig?” asked Armitage.
“I was in the army, but served out my time and was discharged a few months ago and came to Washington to see where they make the government—yes? I am going to South America. Is it Peru? Yes; there will be a revolution.”