“Yes. See here,” said Captain Beattie suddenly, “how about that brother of yours? I don’t suppose he’s been able to pull off that stunt again?”
“No, but I want the plan of the defenses. Bob may not come again, nor I get word to him, but I’ve found another way.” She stopped for a second, looking fearfully back into the rainy darkness, then turned once more to the window and told him of the chance of Armand de la Tour’s coming.
When she had finished her listener was silent for a moment, then he said slowly, “It’s pretty doubtful that he will get into the town again. Still, those French spies have incredible skill and daring. Anyway, it’s a chance, and I’ll give you the paper. I have it all ready and hidden in the straw of my bed.”
He went further back into the room and after a minute returned to the window. “Can you put it where it will keep dry, Lucy? It’s only drawn on a scrap of the paper they gave me to write home with.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll keep it dry,” Lucy promised, her heart beating high with hope as she took the folded slip from the young officer’s hand.
“I don’t like to give it to you,” he said doubtfully. “It’s beastly bringing you into danger. I’ve camouflaged it pretty well. You’ll see that it looks like a little sketch of German soldiers changing guard, here in the road. The crooked road I’ve shaped like the ridge at Argenton, and each group of men stands for a battery. That’s all you need tell the Frenchman. Of course it isn’t complete, for I couldn’t learn everything, but it’s enough to give our airmen and gunners the exact range. Oh, what luck, if you could really contrive to get it over! I can’t help hoping, though it may be silly. You’ve managed to do so much already under the Boches’ very noses.”
“I can’t make Captain de la Tour come,” said Lucy wistfully. “But if he does I’ll surely get this to him.”
“Now go, Lucy. I can’t bear to have you out there in the rain, and I don’t feel so sure of their not seeing you. It’s so jolly to have you to talk to, I’m selfish and hate to let you go.”
“I’m coming again,” said Lucy, smiling with pleasure at his words and at the happy knowledge of success in this much of her plan as, dripping wet, she clung with aching fingers to the rusty bars. “What do you do all day, Captain Beattie? How I wish I could make things better for you.”
“I don’t do anything. I sit, and walk up and down and then sit again, and wonder by the hour when we’ll begin to push the Germans back. Then I look at these bars and convince myself I can’t get out, and end by longing for the next meal—if you could call it a meal. I’ve tried tapping on the wall to the soldiers next to me, but either they have gone or the stone is too thick. They don’t answer.”