"But a spy—a prisoner of war!" Gheena's head was down; she hid her eyes.
Here the Professor remarked a little impatiently that the officer of an enemy ship was not a spy.
"Stafford found out the eyrie a week ago"—the old Professor chuckled again—"and, of course, I got to hear of it. He had men waiting in that cave until, Murphy tells me, they came out whitened like celery in the dark. And he got Guinane there easily last night. He told me all about it outside just now. Guinane has given it all away."
"But—then, who——?" Gheena sat down on an upturned box; she felt she needed support.
The Professor merely chuckled cryptically, making no reply.
"It's not Mr. Stafford?" said Gheena.
At this the old gentleman also sat down on another box which was not up to his weight. Extracting himself from the ruins, he said "You too," and abused the flimsy nature of grocery boxes.
"The fellow's store full of petrol," grunted the Professor—"his new house, y'know. Guinane was well paid."
Ned Murphy thrust an anxious face into the room. "If any could guide the mother, sir?" he whispered. "He is bleedin' and a shiver sot in on him, an' he won't come anear the fire, but mutherin' words half delarious. If we could get him where he'd be cared an' there wouldn't be talk! Th' ould docther, if ye brings him here, 'll be chatterin' for all the world like a magpie."
Gheena said sharply that she could drive the car, but not in a blanket.