"No; but what I want to know is about the other papers. Did you hand over all you took to the English Government?"
Max thought a moment. Should he give Schenk the information he so evidently desired? So far as he knew, the papers had no particular value, though he had not really examined them with any care; but they might have. Still, they were safe enough, he thought, for he had seen them handed over into the possession of the bank.
"No—only the plans. The others seemed only business papers, and I had them put away in safety against the time when the Durend works should again be mine."
"It hardly looks as though they ever will be, does it, Monsieur Max? But I am going to make you an offer. Among those papers are letters that passed between the Imperial Government and myself in the days before the war. They are valueless, really, but I do not wish them to get into enemy hands, as they will damage me in the eyes of my Imperial master. You see, I am frank with you. Get me, then, all those papers and you shall go free—free, that is, on condition you join with me in running the Durend works to its fullest capacity during the war. I will not ask you to work on war material—you shall manage the shops manufacturing railway material and farming machinery. I need you and your influence with these obstinate Belgian workmen, and am ready to pay a heavy price to get you."
"A heavy price?" muttered Max. His head was beginning to whirl, and he caught confusedly at the last words.
"Ja. Think you it has cost me nothing to beg your life from the governor? He is madly enraged with you, I can tell you. These, then, are the terms: those papers and your active assistance, or your life."
Max sat slowly down in the chair and put his face between his hands. Life was sweet, and he could not disguise from himself that he was ready to do the utmost he honourably could to save his life. But here, it seemed clear, dishonour was too surely involved. To give up the papers, if they were really private, might not be so hard, but to join Schenk in running the works, even on non-war material, was a thing he shrank from instinctively. Would the workmen understand the distinction? Would they not conclude he had turned traitor, and some revile him, and others—worse still—follow his dubious example?
Max was not very long in doubt. After all, he reasoned finally, anything proposed by Schenk must needs be bad, however plausible his tale. The only really safe line to take with a man of that kind was to have naught to do with him in anything.
"No, Monsieur Schenk, I cannot accept your offer," said Max in a steady voice, getting up rather suddenly from his chair and facing the manager resolutely.
"What? You——But why not, Monsieur Max?" he cried eagerly. "It is all nothing. But there, if you do not like to join with me in running the works I will not press that point. Get me the papers. Write for them to your mother, and as soon as they come you are free."