"I tell you I—— Put it down, Mr. Stafford." Gheena heard the Professor's voice, as in English, with no trace of German accent, he entreated someone not to be an idiot. The door was flung open. Two coastguards tenderly helped in a man who crumbled and tottered between them. With a gasp of terror Gheena recognized the polite lieutenant, and her first thought was that she wished he had not seen her in a blanket.
Opening wider, the door admitted the Professor holding out something and talking volubly, and Basil Stafford, his left arm hanging down and his right gripping a revolver.
"And I—thought," said Stafford apologetically to the Professor, "that it might be you."
The Professor grinned sweetly; he looked at the wounded officer.
"The sorra a thing wrong with him but a clip on the head, Miss," said Mr. Dunne. "Let ye not be frightened. He'll be all right when he sees clear again, an' the sthars is in."
Gheena now observed that Stafford had no coat on, and realized that she was wearing it; she said so nervously.
He looked at her rather sternly.
"So you were determined," he said quietly, "and you found a way. It brought them here, anyhow, before I got away."
Gheena let the poker fall slowly; it lay upon the end of her blanket, singeing it—yes, it was her work.
Stafford soon went out, Murphy with him. The German lieutenant sat up and groaned heavily. He stared a little wildly when Gheena proffered him hot tea.