"So that is your revenge, eh?" I asked, realising how utterly helpless I now was in the hands of my bitterest enemy—the man who had turned a traitor. I could see no way out.
"Bah!" he laughed in my face. "The power of your wonderful old country—so old that it has become worm-eaten—is already at an end. In a month you will have German soldiers swarming upon your shores, while America will seize Canada and Australia, and Russia will advance into India. You will be crushed, beaten, humiliated—and the German eagle will fly over your proud London. The John Bull bladder is to be pricked!" he laughed.
"That is not exactly news to me, M'sieur Pierron," I answered quite coolly. "The danger of my country is equally a danger to yours. With England crushed, France, too, must fall."
"We have an army—a brave army—while you have only the skeleton that your great Haldane has left to you," he sneered. "But enough! I have long desired this interview, and am pleased that it has taken place here in Berlin," and he deliberately walked across to the telephone.
I tried to snatch the transmitter from his hand, but though we struggled, he succeeded in inquiring for a number—the number of the police head-quarters.
I was caught like a rat in a trap, fool that I was to have come there at risk of my liberty—I who was always so wary and so circumspect!
I sprang at his throat, to prevent him speaking further.
"You shall not do this!" I cried.
But his reply was only a hoarse laugh of triumph.
He was asking for somebody—his friend, the chief of police! Then turning to me with a laugh, he said: