“You can’t call him too hard a name for me at this moment,” Furley muttered.
“Nicholas Fenn,” Julian repeated, with a new light in his eyes. “Why, the cable I censored was to him! So he’s the arch traitor!”
“Nicholas Fenn is in it;” Furley admitted, “although I deny that there’s any treason whatever in the affair.”
“Don’t talk nonsense!” Julian replied. “What about your German hairdresser who was shot this morning?”
“It was a mistake to make use of him,” Furley confessed. “Fenn has deceived us all as to the method of our communications. But listen, Julian. You’ll be able to get Miss Abbeway out of this?”
“If I don’t,” Julian replied, “I shall be in it myself, for I’ve lied myself black in the face already.”
“You’re a man, for all the starch in you, Julian,” Furley declared. “If anything were to happen to that girl, I’d wring Fenn’s neck.”
“I think she’s safe for the present,” Julian pronounced. “You see, she isn’t in possession of the incriminating document. I took it from her when she was in danger of arrest.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“You can’t have much doubt about that,” was the composed reply. “I shall go to town to-morrow and hand it over to the proper authorities.”