Then followed the most singular of all our confabulations. Two memories are better than one, and the sooner I carved the cipher into his memory as well as mine the better record we should have. So, with rigid economy of breath, I snapped out all my story, and answered his breathless questions. It saved me from being mesmerised by the star, and both of us from the consciousness of over-fatigue.
“Spying at Chatham, the blackguard?” he hissed.
“What do you make of it?” I asked.
“Nothing about battleships, mines, forts?” he said.
“No.”
“Nothing about the Ems, Emden, Wilhelmshaven?”
“No.”
“Nothing about transports?”
“No.”
“I believe—I was right—after all—something to do—with the channels—behind islands.”