“Because I chose to,” said the other.
“What a fool! what a fool!” cried Kaufmann, “and how fortunate that I am good tempered.”
“Why?” Trent demanded.
“Because I might have had you investigated by the police. Instead I followed you here—not without difficulty I admit—and renew my offer.” He looked about the luxurious house that was miscalled a “camp.” It was not the kind of home a man would lose willingly. “I ask very little. I only want a certain package of letters which a man who lands to-morrow in New York has in his possession. One so skilled as you can get it easily. You have presence, education, ready wit. I confess it is difficult for me to believe you have sunk so low.”
Anthony Trent flushed angrily.
“There are lower depths yet,” he exclaimed.
“Yes?” the other returned, “as for instance?”
“Your sort of work!” he cried. “Do you suppose I imagine you to be a Swiss silk merchant of Bahnhof street?”
Kaufmann threw back his head and laughed.
“My passport recently vised by your State Department is made out to Adolf Kaufmann of Zurich. I have Swiss friends in New York and Chicago who will identify me.”