Whatever Rudolph Becker was, he was no coward. He drew himself up and folded his arms.
“What I have done was for my country,” he said. “I am not ashamed. If I am a spy, so are you, only with a difference. I have been working for Germany, and you—a German born—are in the service of her enemies.”
Fritz Lippheim shrugged his shoulders, and turned to his companion.
“Will you tell those men they may come in, Mr. Douaine?” he said.
Mr. Douaine left the room for a moment, and when he returned he was accompanied by two stout policemen. Mrs. Becker was nowhere to be seen. At the first sign of danger, she had fled to her room, and locked herself in.
“Arrest this man,” commanded the secret service agent. The policemen obeyed. Mr. Becker offered no resistance, but stood quietly while the handcuffs were fastened on. He was evidently resigned to the inevitable.
“The next thing is to make a thorough search of the apartment,” said Fritz Lippheim.
For the first time the prisoner showed signs of embarrassment.
“I beg that you will not consider that necessary,” he said. “I have surrendered without a struggle. I am prepared to give up all the papers in my possession.”
“Search the apartment,” ordered Fritz, and began opening table-drawers, while Mr. Douaine and one of the policemen left the room together.