"Perhaps if we asked Naylour?" Mrs. Freyne was not disposed to reply to a direct question. "What do you think, Dearest? Perhaps that new bad coal——"
"I beg your pardon," said Naylour at the door, "but there is two coastguards here to have speech with the Masther."
The importance of his country's defence wiped the thoughts of tea from Dearest George's mind; he rushed to the door and Gheena opened the window widely.
"I have to perish you all to change the atmosphere," she said apologetically. "What is it, Professor?"
"It is my handkerchief a silken," said the Professor anxiously. "I had him out in the hall and with a cold in the nose——" He ambled out.
"Gheena," said Violet Weston, "I've something to say to you."
Gheena trailed her wool across the carpet to the far end of the long room.
"Some one said—they saw submarines about," whispered Violet; "one of the coastguards told me—a periscope just outside the bay. And also that they're all on the watch for supplies going out from here—and that they are afraid of people signalling. Gheena—what is that Stafford man doing here—idling?"
"He is not a German," said Gheena stoutly.
"Go on knitting, he's watching us. If a German is brought up altogether in England he has no accent—nothing. He goes out late at night. How do I know? I went into the garden one night to look for a cat I heard mewing there, and he went down the next steps; they do for the Professor's home and mine, you know. I heard him crunching off across the beach beyond the pier."