"I don't think I've ever heard as clear and concise a report before. May I suggest that you're rather wasting your talents? You ought to be in the navy."
"I had to leave the army," Andrew replied, coloring. "But that's not what we have to talk about."
"No," agreed Rankine, and was silent for a while.
Whitney watched him with tranquil interest. The teak-paneled room was warm and bright, and after long exposure to numbing cold it was soothing to feel himself getting warm and drowsy; though the men still held his attention. The navy officer was, no doubt, the cleverer of the two, but Whitney thought he recognized a strong similarity in their characters. They were resolute, quiet, and capable, and he felt sure of their honesty. Rankine's face was now gravely thoughtful, but Andrew's wore a troubled frown, and Whitney imagined he recognized that the difficult part of the interview had not yet been reached.
"What you have discovered seems to have one of two meanings," Rankine said. "It may indicate a signaling of military and political news, which, strictly speaking, is not my business; or it may have some bearing on the loss of the A. & P. liner, and perhaps lead to similar attacks."
"Which would be your business," Whitney drawled.
"I can't talk about that; but Mr. Johnstone did right in telling me," Rankine answered, and turned to Andrew. "Have you told any one else?"
"No." There was a curious quietness in Andrew's voice which showed Whitney that he had decided on his course.
"Why not? If my first surmise is correct, it's a matter for the military authorities."
"It seems to me the thing's not ripe. I have nothing but vague suspicions to go upon."