The row had awakened Logan’s dog, which was howling dolefully in the neighbouring room.
‘Queer situation, eh?’ said Merton to the prostrate figure.
Hurrying footsteps climbed the stairs; Mr. Macrae (with a shot-gun) and Logan entered.
Mr. Macrae all but embraced Merton. ‘Had I a son, I could have wished him to be like you,’ he said; ‘but my poor boy—’ his voice broke. Merton
had not known before that the millionaire had lost a son. He did understand, however, that the judicious Logan had given him the whole credit of the exploit, for reasons too obvious to Merton.
‘Don’t thank me,’ he was saying, when Logan interrupted:
‘Don’t you think, Mr. Macrae, you had better examine the message that has just come in?’
Mr. Macrae read, ‘Glad they found the hair-pin, it will console the old boy. Do not quite see how to communicate, if Gianesi, who, you say, has arrived, removes the machine.’
‘Look here,’ cried Merton, ‘excuse my offering advice, but we ought, I think, to send for Donald Macdonald at once. We must flash back a message to those brutes, so they may think they are still in communication with the traitor in our camp. That beast on the floor could work it, of course, but he would only warn them; we can’t check him. We must use Donald, and keep them thinking that they are sending news to the traitor.’
‘But, by Jove,’ said Logan, ‘they have heard from him, whoever he is, since Bude came back, for they know about the finding of the hair-pin. You,’ he said to the wretched captive, ‘have you been at this machine?’