"Sub-Lieutenant of His Britannic Majesty's Navy."
"Ach!" ejaculated Von Wittelsbach, rubbing his hands. "Good! Look up his record, Herr Schwalbe."
The lieutenant took down a leather-bound volume, and Hamerton was somewhat surprised to hear the record of his various appointments read out.
A shade of disappointment flitted over the commandant's face when he heard that the whole of the prisoner's sea time had been spent on tropical stations. He had hoped that this English officer belonged to one of the ships of the Home Fleet.
"And your name?" demanded Von Wittelsbach through his secretary, addressing the American.
"Oswald P. Detroit, aged nineteen, American citizen, native of Richmond, Virginia, U.S.A. Say, my man, any further information you may require will be trotted out with the utmost celerity."
The secretary stared, unable to grasp the full meaning of the verbosity of the accused. Lieutenant Schwalbe turned and whispered into the President's ear.
"An American?" repeated Von Wittelsbach, hardly able to master his surprise. "Are you certain?"
Receiving an affirmative reply, the President leant back in his armchair and reflectively stroked his moustache. Here was a new phase, one that he had not bargained for.
It did not take him long to make up his mind.