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Page 80
"Well, yes, just a little. Is she the woman you told me about--the
countess?"
"No, no! But she's a very remarkable person," he explained. "She is known
in every capital of Europe. They say the German government pays her fifty
thousand dollars a year."
"She's quite a beauty," said I.
He looked at me sharply. "I suppose she is, but that's not the point.
She's at the head of the German secret service work in America. She knows
all about Edison."
"Oh!"
"She has told me where he is. That's why we came up here. Do you see that
building?"
I followed his gesture across the valley and on a hill opposite saw a
massive brick structure with many small windows, and around it a high
white painted wall.
"Well?"
"That's the state penitentiary. Edison is there in the cell that was once
occupied by Aaron Burr--you remember--when he was tried for treason?"
All this was said in so straightforward a manner that I felt ashamed of
my doubts and congratulated my friend warmly on his zeal and success.
"Just the same, you didn't like it when you saw me with that woman--did
you?" he laughed.
I acknowledged my uneasiness and, as we walked back to the hotel, spoke
earnestly with Ryerson about the grave responsibility that rested upon
us, upon me equally with him. I begged him to justify his sister's faith
and love and to rise now with all his might to this supreme duty and
opportunity.
He seemed moved by my words and assured me that he would do the right
thing, but when I pressed him to outline our immediate course of action,
he became evasive and irritable and declared that he was tired and needed
a night's rest before going into these details.
As I left him at the door of his bedroom I noticed a bulky and strongly
corded package on the table and asked what it was, whereupon, in a flash
of anger, he burst into a tirade of reproach, saying that I did not trust
him and was prying into his personal affairs, all of which increased my
suspicions.
"I must insist on knowing what is in that package," I said quietly. "You
needn't tell me now, because you're not yourself, but in the morning we
will take up this whole affair. Goodnight."
"Goodnight," he answered sullenly.
Here was a bad situation, and for hours I did not sleep, asking myself if
I had made a ghastly mistake in trusting Ryerson. Was his sister's
sacrifice to be in vain? Was the man a traitor still, in spite of
everything?
Towards three o'clock I fell into fear-haunted dreams, but was presently
awakened by a quick knocking at my door and, opening, I came face to face
with my companion, who stood there fully dressed.
"For God's sake let me come in." He looked about the room nervously.
"Have you anything to drink?"
I produced a flask of Scotch whiskey and he filled half a glass and
gulped it down. Then he drew a massive iron key from his pocket and threw
it on the bed.
"Whatever happens, keep that. Don't let me have it."
I picked up the key and looked at it curiously. It was about four inches
long and very heavy.
"Why don't you want me to let you have it?"
"Because it unlocks a door that would lead me to--hell," he cried
fiercely. Then he reached for the flask.
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