The man snarled, and the bearded man said quietly:
"He would have run no risk of that."
"Just as you like," replied Tommy. "I know it's the fashion to run down the police. I rather believe in them myself."
His manner was nonchalant to the last degree. Tommy Beresford was one of those young Englishmen not distinguished by any special intellectual ability, but who are emphatically at their best in what is known as a "tight place." Their natural diffidence and caution fall from them then like a glove. Tommy realized perfectly that in his own wits lay the only chance of escape, and behind his casual manner he was racking his brains furiously.
The cold accents of the German took up the conversation:
"Have you anything to say before you are put to death as a spy?"
"Simply lots of things," replied Tommy with the same urbanity as before.
"Do you deny that you were listening at that door?"
"I do not. I must really apologize—but your conversation was so interesting that it overcame my scruples."
"How did you get in?"
"Dear old Conrad here." Tommy smiled deprecatingly at him. "I hesitate to suggest pensioning off a faithful servant, but you really ought to have a better watchdog."
Conrad snarled impotently, and said sullenly, as the man with the beard swung round upon him:
