Clare said: “Because we’re Americans,” and then cut her speech off abruptly. Otto could see her shoulders move to the labour of her breathing.
Ingolls said: “You mean that it’s our duty to report what he’s told us—that he’s what they call a fifth columnist?” His voice, as Otto noted with a dull surprise which pierced even through the bodily fatigue and mental stress which seemed at every moment to be upon the point ot overpowering him, was still his usual voice.
Clare said: “You know very well what I mean!” and turned away and went quickly out of the light again.
Ingolls sat down upon the arm of the chair next to Otto’s and leaned forward and looked into Otto’s face. He said:
“You realized all this before you said anything. You knew we were Americans—and you knew what our feelings were. You must have known that we should at least think it our duty to hand you over—I was going to say as a spy, but I’ll have to change the word to ‘saboteur.’”
“Yes,” Otto said, “I had thought that would be what you must feel.”
Ingolls said: “What else did you think, then? Or is that what you want?” He said the last sentence incredulously, and Otto could feel the grey eyes upon him.
A small, stifled sound came from the shadows behind his chair and he wanted to turn and leap to his feet tod take Clare into his arms. But he sat still and did not turn his head. He said carefully:
“I think you know that is not what I want. And you know, too, that you would be doing nothing for your country or your cause if you did now make them arrest me.”
Clare’s voice said something from the darkness behind him and Ingolls looked toward the sound as he spoke. He said:
“That’s true! If this one says he won’t talk, he won’t—not for all the cigarette-ends and rubber hose in America.” He swung around upon Otto. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”
Otto said: “That is what I mean.”
Ingolls spoke to his daughter again. “This conversion: do you believe him?”
“Yes,” said Clare’s voice from the shadows.
Ingolls said: “So do I.” He faced Otto again and seemed about to speak, but then was silent for a long moment.
“Clare!” he said at last. “Come here.”
She came slowly into the light and stood beside him. He took her by the arm and pushed her gently into the chair beside Otto’s and then himself sat upon the arm of it with a hand upon her shoulder. He said to Otto:
“Tell us what you plan to do?”
Otto sat forward a little. He gripped his hands, one over the other, between his knees. He said:
“Very well. I will not use the names of places or people, but I will tell you.”
He finished—and a heavy silence seemed to hang about him. No one spoke or moved until Ingolls got to his feet and went to the table at the rim of the circle of light and busied himself with decanter and glasses and came back with a tumbler which he thrust in Otto’s hands.
“Drink that,” he said.
Otto drank, gratefully—and the silence still persisted, until Ingolls broke it.
“Before you began to talk,” he said, “I couldn’t see any way out for you; but that makes sense, Falken.”
Clare said: “It does not! It’s wrong,
Otto did not turn his head to look at her. He felt numb and empty of strength and thought.
But Ingolls looked at her and shook his head. “No! It’s not wrong!” he said. “It’s right!”
Clare said: “It isn’t! It’s . . . it’s a frightened compromise. It’s neither one thing nor the other. It’s wrong!”
“Why?” said Otto heavily. “Why is it wrong? I do not understand you.” His voice sounded lifeless and far away in his own ears. And it surprised him: he had not known that he was going to speak.
“Nor do I!” said her father, and his voice was sharper than Otto had heard it towards his daughter.
She stood up, with an abrupt and sudden movement. She turned and faced her father, looking up at him. Her hands were locked in front of her, their fingers twisting about each other. She said:
“I believe him when he says he’s . . . he’s converted. But can’t he see—can’t
“Loyalties,” Ingolls said, and then was silent again.
Clare said: “There’s only one thing he can do—must do! And that’s to get in touch, immediately, with Washington and tell them everything—all the names and plans and whereabouts of the whole horrible organization. That’s the only
Otto tried to look at her but could not. His legs ached almost unendurably, and he shifted his weight uneasily in his chair.
Ingolls said: “You don’t understand, Clare. You don’t understand at all.”