But she was pale, I
noticed critically; there was apprehension in her eyes. Wasn't it odd
that the prospect of a few simple questions from an officer should
disconcert her when she had possessed the courage, or the foolhardiness,
to sail on this line at this time?
Really I could not deny that all I had seen of her was most suspicious.
For aught I knew, the secret-service man might be absolutely right. I
had treated him outrageously. I owed him an apology, doubtless. But
I still felt furious with him, and when she looked anxiously at those
officers, I felt furious with them too.
Van Blarcom, his brief questioning ended, was turning from the table. As
he passed, I made a point of smiling companionably at the girl.
"Now for the rack, the cord, and the thumbscrews," I murmured to her,
making way.
The lieutenant was a tall, lean, muscular young man with a shrewd tanned
face in which his eyes showed oddly blue, and he half rose, civilly
enough, as the girl advanced.
"Please sit down," he said with a strong English accent. "I'll have to
see your passport if you will be so good.
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