The man was shaken. His face was gray, and his fear was of Cantor.
"There was no paper, nothing. I examined the window. There are footprints underneath--in the snow. Some one climbed the tree. There are marks on the window-sill."
Cantor waved the man away and approached the table.
"Miss von Essen," he said, "I have got to know who entered your room last night. I have got to know who says that I am Adolf von Arnheim. It is necessary for me to know, so that I can act. Who was the man?"
"What I don't understand," Cantor said, as if to himself, "is why you were told.... If they know, why haven't they acted? What does it mean?"
"If you are suspected," said von Essen, shaking as though with an ague, his eyes glaring, his face distorted, "_I_ am suspected. If they get you they get me."
"You!" said Cantor, with unconscious scorn. He was not thinking of his tools then, but of his work. Nobody mattered; he would sacrifice any one for his work, and von Essen knew it. He was terrified.
"I don't understand it," Cantor said, puzzled by something outside his peculiar experience. "The Secret Service isn't climbing into windows to tell secrets to girls.... There's something else--something I've got to understand."
"You tell him," bellowed von Essen. "Tell him, I say."
"Do you want to see me hanged? Eh? Is that what you want?"
"Be quiet, von Essen. You're not caught. Nobody's caught. We can't make her speak." He knew Hildegarde, had studied her shrewdly during the past months, and he was a man trained to assay character.
"I'll beat her till she speaks," said von Essen.
"No.... It would do no good. I think it is a trap. I think they have only suspicions. I believe they prompted her to say that name--and tell them what happened. That was it.... They suspect, but that is all." He paced up and down for another five minutes. "It means I've got to act. I wasn't ready, but this forces me--crowds me. You, von Essen, forget about yourself for a while. They can trace nothing to you. You're safe."
"You don't care," said von Essen, his voice quivering with rage and terror. "What do you care what happens to me?"
Cantor shrugged his shoulders. "There's work for you. You know the plan. It must go through to-night. I can't wait even to get to the office to destroy papers. The office may be watched.... I'm going to act." His eyes glowed with a sort of enthusiasm. "There shall be surprises for Detroit to-morrow--fine surprises. Factories in ruins, explosives dropped out of the sky--and no one to say how they fell.... I'll make a circle. There's no way to follow me and no way to stop me ... no anti-aircraft guns to dodge. I'll fly low and make sure. They've worked a year getting ready to make aeroplanes, and I'll destroy it all in an hour--and I'll block their river. When spring comes the ore will be bottled up. I've the thing mapped out--first a circle over town, then I'll see what I can do down-river. I think a bomb or two will block the new ship-channel. There isn't time to block Lime Kiln crossing. For that we needed time. Then a circle back to the Flats and I'll destroy the piers and block that channel.... Then to disappear. An aeroplane leaves no trail...."