Marian stiffened. “I allude to the blotter I unfortunately used when decoding a message from the State Department; the message on it was very clear;” her voice stumbled as she met his astonished gaze. “The blotter was missing the morning after your call.”
Slowly her meaning dawned on Maynard.
“Good God! Marian, do I understand you accuse me of stealing a blotter with the imprint of a decoded message from the State Department on it?” he demanded.
“Yes.” The monosyllable cost her an effort which Maynard’s indignation blinded him to.
“You think me a spy, a traitor—you?” he stammered, his face gone white.
“What else am I to think?” she retorted drearily. “Your unexpected and unexplained return—oh, I know ‘war work’; war work, these days, like charity sometimes covers a multitude of sins.”
“My war work——” began Maynard hotly, and stopped short.
“Your war work,” she repeated. “Well, is it for Uncle Sam or for the Kaiser?”
Maynard held up a protesting hand. “Let us talk reasonably,” he said. “There is no occasion for excitement. What induces you to think I am working for the Kaiser?”
“Your fondness of the German people;” she stopped and spoke more slowly. “Were you not born in Germany?”