Then I sprang my mine. “Would you be surprised to learn,” I asked, as coolly as I could, “that your Mr Engström is not Mr Engström at all, but a German agent passing under his name?”
I have seen a good many badly surprised men in my life, but I never witnessed before or since such a spectacle of hopeless astonishment as Captain A— presented when he grasped the full significance of this announcement. He sat staring at me, his mouth wide open, and with dismay written legibly on every line of his countenance.
“But, Sant,” he gasped. “Are you sure? Mr Engström came to us in London and told us all about it. He explained that the inventor was a Spaniard who would not trust the ‘neutrality’ of the Spanish Government in the matter, and that he had brought his invention to Engström’s with the idea of getting the best terms from one of the Allies.”
“I have no doubt that the man posing as Engström came to you,” I replied. “But, none the less, he is not Engström at all.”
“Then what is his game?” countered A—. “He has offered us the fullest test before we adopt his machine, and has not asked for a cent.”
“That remains to be seen,” I answered, “but it bodes no good to the Allies. What does he propose?”
“He has offered to instal the apparatus on one of our newest types,” replied A—, “and she is on her way to Havre for the purpose. We are to make any test we like, and, in fact, I am here to see the test carried out. The only condition he makes is that his machinery shall be sealed, and not opened until after the test has proved it to be satisfactory.”
I began to see light. “Did he propose to go with you?” I asked.
“No,” replied A—, rather ruefully, I fancied. “He said the machinery was so perfect that it would practically run itself from our electric accumulators, and that he would give us an absolutely free hand with it.”
“I wonder how many of you would have come back?” I said meaningly.