"I believe the word for ambulance is the same in both languages," said Marie Guernalec saucily; "Sylvia, don't trust Monsieur Trent."
"Jack," whispered Sylvia, "promise me—"
A knock at the studio door interrupted her.
"Come in!" cried Fallowby, but Trent sprang up, and opening the door, looked out. Then with a hasty excuse to the rest, he stepped into the hallway and closed the door.
When he returned he was grumbling.
"What is it, Jack?" cried West.
"What is it?" repeated Trent savagely; "I'll tell you what it is. I have received a dispatch from the American Minister to go at once and identify and claim, as a fellow-countryman and a brother artist, a rascally thief and a German spy!"
"Don't go," suggested Fallowby.
"If I don't they'll shoot him at once."
"Let them," growled Thorne.