Amelungen played with his penholder, but his hands trembled visibly, and words failed him. His face had turned ashy pale, and Heideck could not help feeling sorry for him.

"I regret that my duty obliges me to proceed against you," he continued.

"I can easily understand your motives. You are a Netherlander and a patriot, and, as perhaps you do not quite understand the political situation, the occupation of your country by a foreign power appears to you an act of violence, which fills you with anger and hatred against us. Therefore I think I may promise you that you will be treated as leniently as possible, if you make my task easy by an open confession."

Eberhard Amelungen shook his head.

"I know nothing of what you charge me with," he said feebly. "You have the power, and can do as you please with me. But I have nothing to confess."

"Not if I tell you that my information comes from the mouth of your own son?"

The merchant stared at the speaker with wide-open eyes full of anxiety.

"From the mouth of my own son? But--I have no son."

"Then M. Camille Penurot also was lying when he said you were his father?"

"For G.o.d's sake be merciful! Don't torture me! What is the matter with Camille? Where is he?"

"He has been caught spying. What will happen to him depends on your own behaviour."

Eberhard Amelungen sank back in his stool in a state of collapse.

"My G.o.d! you don't mean to put him in prison? or to shoot him?"

"As you may imagine, his fate is not in my hands alone. But in this instance my influence may perhaps be considerable, and it would certainly have weight if I threw it into the scale in your favour and his. Therefore I again ask you to consider whether, as things are, it would not be best for you to be perfectly frank with me. Those who are behind you can no longer protect you, and your only hope lies in the leniency of the German authorities. Do not reject the possibility of securing this leniency."

The merchant was evidently carrying on a severe struggle with himself.

After a few moments he raised his head, and in an altered, defiant tone replied--

"Do what you like with me, I have nothing to confess."

Heideck then a.s.sumed a sterner, official demeanour.

"Then you must not complain if I begin to search your house."

"Do as you think fit. The victor can take what liberties he pleases."

Heideck opened the door and summoned two of the Berlin criminal police, who at his request had been ordered to Antwerp on this affair with a large number of policemen. Certainly he felt sure in advance that they would find nothing, for Eberhard Amelungen would have been very foolish not to have reckoned long ago on the possibility of such a visit, and to have taken precautions accordingly. The Major, in bringing the police with him, had thought more of the moral impression of the whole procedure. His knowledge of men told him that it had its effect.

"One thing more, Herr Amelungen," said he. "About the same time as the search begins here, another will take place in your private house. I expect the report of those entrusted with it at any moment."

Amelungen breathed hard. He looked nervously at Heideck, as if trying to read his thoughts. Then, after a brief struggle with himself, he whispered--

"Send these men out, Herr major! I should like to speak to you privately."

When Heideck had complied with his request, Amelungen continued, speaking hastily, and bringing out his words with difficulty: "In me you see a man who deserves compa.s.sion, a man who has been, entirely against his will and inclination, compromised. If anyone is guilty in this matter, it is my brother-in-law Van Spranekhuizen and a lady correspondent of my wife in Brussels. Occasionally I have acted as agent, when it was a matter of forwarding letters, or of handing over sums of money to the Countess--to the lady; but I have never personally taken any part in the matters in question."

"That statement is not enough for me. I do not doubt the truth of what you say, but I must be informed of all the details before I can drop further proceedings against you. Who is the lady you speak of?"

"A former maid of honour to the late Queen."

"Her name?"

"Countess Clementine a.r.s.elaarts."

"How did you come to know her?"

"She is a friend of my wife, who made her acquaintance last year when staying in Brussels."

"And your wife is English?"

"Yes; her maiden name was Irwin."

At the sound of this name a flood of painful recollections rushed over Heideck's mind.

"Irwin?" he repeated. "Has the lady by chance any relatives in the British army?"

"I had a brother-in-law, who was a captain in the Indian Lancers. But, according to the news that has reached us, he was killed at the battle of Lah.o.r.e."

The Major found it hard to control his excitement, but as if he had already allowed himself to be too long diverted from his duty, he hastily returned to the real subject of his examination.

"You said that you have handed over certain sums of money to Countess a.r.s.elaarts. By whose order? and on whose account?"

"On account of the English Government and on the order of an English banking house with which I have had business dealings for many years."

"Were the sums large?"

"Latterly, on an average about 10,000 francs a month."

"And how were they paid?"

"Sometimes I sent the amount in cash, often by cheque on Brussels banks."

"Have you any evidence on the point--a receipt signed by the Countess?"

Amelungen hesitated.

"I strongly advise you to keep nothing back from me. So much is at stake for you and your relatives who are involved in this affair that it is of the utmost consequence that you should secure lenient treatment by a frank confession."

"Well, then, I have some receipts."

"Please let me see them."

Amelungen pulled open a drawer in his writing-table, pressed a spring, and a secret compartment at the back flew open.

"There they are!" said he, handing a small bundle of sheets of paper to Heideck. But the Major's keen eye had noticed, as he glanced rapidly at the compartment, that it contained some other papers, which he politely but firmly demanded to see.

"They are private letters of no importance," objected Amelungen, "some of my wife's correspondence, which she accidentally left in my office. I don't know what they are about myself."