The manner in which his eyelids cut flatly across the upper part of the pupils of his dark eyes gave his gaze a keenly penetrating quality. He wanted explanation, full and exhaustive explanation. Warnings, and mere intangible suggestions, no longer carried weight. He must know the whole thing which the future had to reveal to him.
The white-haired man seemed lost in thought. Again Ruxton noted a change. The lean face and gentle eyes yielded to something very like an expression of dejection. It was almost as if the man shrank from the explanations demanded of him, while yet he knew they must be made.
At length he raised his eyes and regarded his guest with an almost pathetic smile.
"Explain? Ah, yes. I must explain everything now." He sighed. "Where—where shall I begin?" He crossed his long legs and strove to settle himself more comfortably in his chair, while Ruxton waited without a sign.
"It is hard to explain—all," he said, after a brief pause. "But I know it must be. Mr. Farlow, can you imagine what it means when a man who has always regarded his honor and his country's honor before all things in the world suddenly finds himself called upon to confess that his country's honor has been outraged by his country, and his own honor has been outraged by himself? If you can, then perhaps you will understand my position when explanation is demanded of me."
Ruxton averted the steady regard of his eyes. He did not desire to witness this man's pain.
"I think I know," he said. Then quite abruptly he changed from the English language to German, which he spoke with the perfect accent of a man educated in Frankfurt. "But it may save you much if you begin by telling me your real name. The name you are known by in—Germany."
A pair of simple, startled eyes gazed back into his.
"Has—Vita—told you?" he demanded.
Ruxton shook his head.