Fred was in no hurry to be convinced.  I was already for accepting her story and helping her out; but that was perhaps because I was a sick man, too recently recovered from the gates of death to care to be hard on any one.

“I still don’t see your danger,” Fred told her.  “In all my life I fail to recall a single instance of the British courts passing a severe sentence on a spy.  If you’ll excuse my saying so, your story about Lord James Rait is incorrect.  I recall the case well.  He got a twenty-year sentence for forgery.”

“True!” she answered.  “And Mrs. Winstin Willoughby was sentenced to fifteen years for theft!  Lord James did forge—­in the way of business for the German government!  Jane Winstin Willoughby did steal—­for the same blackguard masters!  Do you think they will expose me as a spy?  That would be too clumsy, even for such bullies as they are!  Do you suppose they could have dragged me down to this without some sword held over me?  They can prove that I committed a crime in England several years ago.  Oh, yes, I am a criminal!  I raised a check.  It was a check on a German bank, given to me by a German on behalf of a countryman of his.  I needed money desperately, and the man who brought the check to me suggested I should raise it!  Since then I have tried to repay that money with interest a dozen times, but they have always laughed and told me they preferred to leave matters as they are.”

“What would be the use of returning to British territory, then?” asked Fred.  “If they hold that over you, they can denounce you at any time.”

“Not they!” she answered.  “Not if I get there first!  I know too much!  I can tell too much!  I can prove too much!  If I were once arrested on the charge of raising that check, no government in the world would listen to me.  But if I can tell my story first, and confess about the check, and explain why the charge is likely to be brought against me, then there will be Downing Street officials who know how to whisper to the German Embassy words that will frighten them into silence!  I can prove too much against the German government, if only I can tell my tale before they crush me!”

“Why not write it?” asked Fred, and it seemed to me there was humor in his eye, but she only detected stubbornness, and laughed scornfully.

“My own maid even gave them the letters written to me by my sister!  If I should be suspected of writing they would never rest until they had the letter!”

“Give me your letter to mail!” suggested Fred maliciously.

“Deluded man!” she sneered.  “All the letters you have written since you came to Muanza lie in a drawer in the commandant’s desk!  I myself have read them!”

In the dark, with shifting shadows thrown by the cheap trade lantern, it was difficult to judge what was going on behind that beard of Fred’s.  I had begun to suspect he was coming over to my way of thinking and would yield to her presently, but he returned to the attack—­very directly and abruptly.