"
"But," objected Desmond, "a silver box! What value has a trifling
object like that? My dear young lady, murder is not done for a
silver box!"
"No, no," Nur-el-Din repeated, "you don't understand! You don't
know what that box contained!"
Then she relapsed into silence, plucking idly at the shred of
cambric she held between her fingers.
Already dusk was falling and the room was full of shadows. The
golden radiance of the afternoon had died and eerie wraiths of
fog were peering-in at the window.
Desmond held his peace. He felt he was on the threshold of a
confession that might rend the veil of mystery surrounding the
murder at Seven Kings. He stared fixedly at the ugly red
tablecloth, conscious that the big eyes of the girl were
searching his face.
"You have honest eyes," she said presently. "I told you that once
before... that night we met.at your house... do you remember?
Your eyes are English. But you are a German, hein?"
"My mother was Irish," said Desmond and felt a momentary relief
that, for once, he had been able to speak the truth.
"I want a friend," the girl resumed wearily, "someone that I can
trust. But I look around and I find no one. You serve the German
Empire, do you not?"
Desmond bowed.
"But not the House of Hohenzollern?" the girl cried, her voice
trembling with passion.
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