Part 41 (1/2)
”It's Alsatian German.”
”All right. Now, why did you break into that house?”
”To take what you took.”
”To steal these papers for the Turkish Emba.s.sy?”
”To _take_ them.”
”For the Turkish Amba.s.sador!” he repeated incredulously.
”No; for his military attache.”
”What are you, a spy?”
”You knew it well enough. You are one, also. But you have treated me as though I were a thief. You'll be killed for it, I hope.”
”You think I'm a spy?” he asked, astonished.
”What else are you?”
”A spy?” he repeated. ”Is _that_ what _you_ are? And you suppose me to be one, too? That's funny. That's extremely----” He checked himself, looked around at her. ”What are you about?” he demanded. ”What's that in your hand?”
”A cigarette.”
They had arrived at the road. He got over the wall with the box; she vaulted it lightly.
In the darkness he caught the low, steady throbbing of his engine, and presently distinguished the car standing where he had left it.
”Get in,” he said briefly.
”I am not a thief! Are you going to lay that charge against me?”
”I don't know. Is it worse than charging you with three separate attempts to murder me?”
”Are you going to take me to jail?”
”I'll see. You'll go as far as Orangeville with me, anyhow.”
”I don't care to go.”
”I don't care whether you want to go or not. Get into the car!”
She climbed to the seat beside the wheel; he tossed in the olive-wood box, turned on his lamps, and took the wheel.
”May I have a match for my cigarette?” she asked meekly.
He found one, scratched it; she placed a very thick and long cigarette between her lips and he lighted it for her.
Just as he threw in the clutch and the car started, the girl blew a shower of sparks from the end of her cigarette, rose in her seat, and flung the lighted cigarette high into the air. Instantly it burst into a flare of crimson fire, hanging aloft as though it were a fire balloon, and lighting up road and creek and bushes and fields with a brilliant strontium glare.