THE YELLOW DOVE
to take this matter out of your hands. There is still time. Will you give me that packet?”
She shook her head.
“Then I must speak,” he went on. “My duty demands it, whatever happens to him—whatever happens to you. Don’t make me go to extremes with you. I cannot bear to do it. Hammersley is a German spy. Those papers were to be forwarded to Germany. You are saving them for him, that he may betray England.”
“That is not true,” she said chokingly. “I do not believe it.”
“You must. Isn’t there proof enough in what you have read?”
“There is some mistake.”
“No. There can’t be. Your sentiments are blinding you.”
“One moment, please.” Doris had risen and faced him across the hearth, a new fire of resolution in her eyes. To Rizzio, the lover of beauty, she was a mockery of lost happiness. She was Diana, not the huntress but the hunted.
“You have told me what Cyril Hammersley is. Now if you please I would like to know what you are!”
He paused a moment and then with a step toward her said gently:
“I think my interests should be fairly obvious. I am acting for the English Government.”
“I have only your word for it. Have you any papers that would prove it—in your card-case, for instance?”
He started back, his fingers instinctively reaching upward. Then he shrugged and laughed.
“You are surely the most amazing person. Un-
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