He rose and paced the rug in front of her for a moment. Then he spoke incredulously in a whisper.
“You mean that you won’t give ’em to me?”
“I mean that—precisely.”
“But that is impossible,” he went on, with greater signs of excitement than she had ever seen in him. “Don’t you realize now that every moment the things are in your possession you’re in danger—great danger? Isn’t what you’ve gone through—isn’t this”—and he indicated his arm—“the proof of it?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “But I would rather suffer injury myself than see you share the fate of Captain Byfield.”
He started. “Oh, you heard that?”
“Yes. Jack Sandys is here.” She put her face in her hands in the throes of her doubts of him and then suddenly thrust out her hands and laced her fingers around his arm.
“Oh, give it up, Cyril, for my sake give it all up. Can’t you see the terrible position you’ve placed me in? If I give these papers to Jack Sandys they’ll come and take you as they took Captain Byfield. I’ve kept them for you, because I promised. But I cannot let this information get to Germany. I would die first. What shall I do?” she wailed. “What on earth can I do?”
His reply made her gasp.
“There’s a fire,” he said quietly. “Burn ’em.”