Von Lindheim’s answer was a hopeless shrug.
“On Tuesday last we know that Professor Seemarsh, the Alpine climber, or the man who calls himself by that name, was here in this village, hundreds of miles away from the Weisshorn. And whatever injury he may or may not have received, it is certainly not a broken collar-bone.”
“It is as I have suspected,” Szalay said gloomily.
For some moments neither of us spoke. All my suspicions now came back as certainties, and I could properly appreciate the escape I had had that afternoon. Von Lindheim laughed grimly. “To think that we have had the scoundrel in this very house. It is a wonder I am yet alive. He did not come here for nothing, you may swear.”
“But for what?”
“Time will show, if we are only in a position to comprehend it.”
“Let us at least be thankful,” said I, “that chance has shown us our danger. We shall know our enemy now when we see him. You are right, Lindheim, about the Professor’s accent. But we must confess they played their parts well. The girl! What a life! No wonder she occasionally breaks out into cynical bitterness that is almost startling.”
Reviewing the conduct of the soi-disants Seemarshes, I now related how they had roused my suspicions when they pretended to have missed their way upstairs. Szalay, as he listened, looked uncomfortable, almost terrified.
“That accounts,” said he blankly, “for something which happened yesterday, and which I could not make out at the time. I was sitting in my room reading when the door suddenly opened. Naturally, I turned quickly to see who it was, but as I did so it was shut quickly again, not so quickly, though, but that I fancied I had caught a glimpse of a woman’s dress. Imagining it had been Frau Pabst I thought little more of the matter, but now I know—it must have been that girl spy, and my whereabouts is no longer a secret.”
“Then the sooner we make a move from here the better,” said Von Lindheim. “It is sheer madness to stay waiting the assassin’s blow. To-morrow morning—Tyrrell, will you come with us?”