“Can you hear this?” And Robison whispered, “Constantinople!”
“Beg pardon, sir!” Gray looked at Mr. Robison's face intently, but Robison shook his head and said:
“No fair looking! That isn't hearing, but lipreading. Close your eyes and listen!” And he whispered, “Bab-el-Mandeb!” No one could have heard him three feet away and Gray was across the room. Robison raised his voice and said, “Did you hear that?”
There showed in Gray's blue eyes a pathetic struggle between telling the truth and getting the job. “I—I only heard a faint murmur, sir.”
“Try again. Listen!” Mr. Robison moved his lips soundlessly and asked, “What did I say, Gray?” The old man drew in a deep breath. It was not so much the money, for the Morris family gave him a pension; but he wished to feel that he was not yet useless, that he was still worth his keep. However, he shook his head and said, determinedly:
“I heard nothing.”
“Open your eyes! You get the job, Gray,” said Mr. Robison. “Come here!”
As Gray approached his new employer Sniffens left the room.
“You are not to tell any one for whom you are working, or where, or why, or for how long, or for what wages. There will be no night work. Are you very careful?”
“Yes, sir.”