"Chief Fleck has me here safe in shackles with the
other prisoners."
"God," cried Fleck, in astonished perplexity. "Is Frederic Hoff a
Britisher--one of your men?"
"Rather," said Brook-White. "Chief Fleck, may I present Captain Sir
Frederic Seymour, of the Royal Kentish Dragoons."
But Fleck was too busy just then to heed the introduction, or to pay
attention to the muttered "_Donnerwetters_" of indignation that burst
from the lips of his other prisoners.
Jane Strong had fainted dead away against his shoulder.
CHAPTER XVIII
WHAT THE PACKET CONTAINED
"But," said Jane, "I can't understand it yet. How did you, a British
officer, happen to be living with old Otto Hoff? How did you ever get
him to trust you with his terrible secrets?"
Captain Seymour chortled gleefully. Now that he was arrayed in proper
British clothes, once more comfortable in the uniform of his regiment
and had his monocle in place and was with Jane again, everything looked
radiantly different. Even his speech no longer retained its
international quality but now was tinctured with London mannerisms.
"Oh, I say," he replied, "that was a ripping joke on the bally
Dutchmen."
Jane eyed him uncertainly. He seemed almost like a stranger to her in
this unfamiliar guise, though for hours she had been eagerly looking
forward to his coming.
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