“It's simple enough,” Sir Henry continued. “You see, you are about as fit to be a spy as Philippa, my wife here, is to be a detective. You possess the one insuperable obstacle of having the instincts of a gentleman.—Come, come,” he went on, “we have nothing more to say to one another. Open that window and take the narrow path down to the beach. Jimmy Dumble is waiting for you at the gate. He will row you out to a Dutch trawler which is lying even now off the point.”
“You mean me to get away?” Lessingham exclaimed, bewildered.
“Believe me, it will cost nothing,” Sir Henry assured him. “I was not bluffing when I told Captain Griffiths that I had supreme authority here. He knows perfectly well that I am within my rights in aiding your escape.”
Philippa moved swiftly to where Lessingham was standing. She gave him her hands.
“Dear friend,” she begged, “so wonderful a friend as you have been, don't refuse this last thing.”
“Be a sensible fellow, Maderstrom,” Sir Henry said. “Remember that you can't do yourself or your adopted country a ha'porth of good by playing the Quixote.”
“Besides,” Philippa continued, holding his hands tightly, “it is, after all, only an exchange. You have saved Henry's life, set Richard free, and brought us happiness. Why should you hesitate to accept your own liberty?”
Sir Henry threw open the window and looked towards a green light out at sea.
“There's your trawler,” he pointed out, “and remember the tide will turn in half an hour. I don't wish to hurry you.”
Lessingham raised Philippa's fingers to his lips.