She glanced anxiously at her husband, but Mr. Douaine did not seem to notice either the words or the glance. His eyes were fixed steadily on his companion’s face.
“Do you know this lady, Mr. Douaine?” the stranger asked.
“I have only met her once, but my sister knew her well. She was the German teacher at the girls’ school in Connecticut, which Gretel has been attending for the past two winters.”
“Ah, I see. Well, Fräulein, perhaps you have something to tell us, which may be of service to us in this sad business?”
“No, indeed, indeed I have not!” cried Fräulein, with a fresh burst of tears. “I would give all I have in the world to be able to help you, for the child is as dear to me as if she were my own sister. But my uncle, he is a great patriot. He asked me to do something to help my dear country, and there was so little I could do. I knew how dear Gretel had adored her father, and I thought—I thought, perhaps for his sake, and for the sake of the Fatherland, that she might—she might——” Choking sobs finished the sentence.
“You mean you thought my sister might be of service to your uncle?” Mr. Douaine asked sternly.
Fräulein nodded.
“He only asked me to give him the opportunity of speaking to her,” she moaned. “I—I asked her to come that afternoon, but she did not come, and my heart was full of thankfulness. I never dreamed of harm coming to her until this morning, when I heard that terrible news.”
Mr. Douaine and his companion exchanged glances.
“Then,” said the stranger, quietly, “you mean us to understand that you know nothing of what has happened since Miss Gretel went to New London?”