THE INQUISITION
Rizzio broke in quickly. “That copy was made not at Lady Heathcote’s that night, but at the War Office or elsewhere the following day. It was prepared for the emergency of capture and, escaping that, for delivery to General von Stromberg.”
“General von Stromberg has been told about those papers. I have told him where and when I made the copy.”
“And where was that?” asked Rizzio keenly.
“In the library at Lady Heathcote’s while you were telephoning to Scotland Yard.”
Rizzio struggled for control, and then with dignity to von Stromberg, “I was telephoning to Herr Maxwell, Excellenz.” He turned to Hammersley with a confident smile. “Assuming for the moment that what you say about copying the papers is true, what did you do with the copy?”
“I took it out to the motor, where I slipped it down the window sash,” Hammersley laughed. “Surely, Rizzio, the tall man from Scotland Yard must have told you that when I escaped I shouted to him that he had not searched the motor.”
General von Stromberg broke in suddenly.
“Why did you say that?”
Hammersley shrugged. “I had injured their motor, and I knew that I should escape. The bravado of triumph, Excellenz. I was rather happy, for, as a fact, they had given me an uncomfortable evening.”
Rizzio leaned across the table.
“Excellenz, it was to draw attention from the girl, who had the original message and who had concealed herself in a tree.”
General von Stromberg took a small object from his pocket and weighed it lightly in the fingers of one
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