"What do you want?" he demanded bluntly.
He took a cigarette from a box on the table, lighted it, and then, with
an air of finality, fixed his gaze upon the man, who eyed him with a kind
of stupefied wonder. Then there flashed into the fellow's bronzed face
something of dignity and resentment. He stood perfectly erect with his
felt hat clasped in his hand. His clothes were cheap, but clean, and his
short coat was buttoned trimly about him.
"I want nothing, Mr. Armitage," he replied humbly, speaking slowly and
with a marked German accent.
"Then you will be easily satisfied," said Armitage. "You said your name
was--?"
"Oscar--Oscar Breunig."
Armitage sat down and scrutinized the man again without relaxing his
severity.
"You think you have seen me somewhere, so you have followed me in the
streets to make sure. When did this idea first occur to you?"
"I saw you at Fort Myer at the drill last Friday. I have been looking for
you since, and saw you leave your horse at the hotel this afternoon. You
ride at Rock Creek--yes?"
"What do you do for a living, Mr. Breunig?" asked Armitage.
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