account of Franz von Blenheim, the kaiser's man. "The young lady's name
and affairs are no concern of mine. If you know anything you can keep it
to yourself."

As we glared at each other like two hostile catamounts, a steward
relieved the tension by running toward us down the deck.

"_Signori, un momento, per piacere_!" he called as he came. The British
officers were on board, he forthwith informed us, and were demanding,
in accordance with the martial law now reigning at Gibraltar, a sight of
each passenger and his passport before the ship should proceed.



CHAPTER VI

THUMBSCREWS

The salon of conversation, as the mirrored, gilded, and highly varnished
apartment was grandiloquently termed, had been the very spot chosen for
our presumably not very terrible ordeal. Things were well under way.
At the desk in the corner one officer was jotting down notes as to the
clearance papers and the cargo; while at a table in the foreground sat
his comrade, in a lieutenant's uniform, with the captain of the _Re
d'Italia_ at his right, swart-faced and silent, and the list of the
passengers lying before the pair.

As I entered a few moments behind Van Blarcom, I perceived that the
interrogation had already run a partial course. Pietro Ricci, the
reservist, had, no doubt, emerged with flying colors and now stood