“I fear it is I who have unwittingly betrayed you,” I said. “Furello could but have guessed before he cross-questioned me.”
“A guess is enough for Rallenstein. He makes sure.”
“Anyhow, I feel guilty,” I said, “and am determined to stand by you both if you will let me.”
“Better start for England to-night,” Von Lindheim replied gloomily, “before you share our fate.”
I laughed. “Even your Chancellor will think twice before he murders a British subject.”
“Murders? No. My dear Tyrrell, your death would be of the most deplorably accidental description. Rallenstein is above all things an artist.”
“Well, I’m not going to desert you fellows, so please don’t suggest it. Now you shall know what I saw last night.”
Then I told them of the chance which had made me a witness of Von Orsova’s death. Needless to say the recital did not tend to allay their fears.
“The Rittmeister has paid!” Szalay exclaimed, with a lugubrious jerk of the head.
“But you,” I said, “what crime can there be in what you saw in that glance through the window? If that is motive enough for getting rid of you——”