The voice came with a fresh note of despair. “He’s taking me away! He’s taking me away! Oh, come! come!” Sure enough the sounds began to recede.
But the spell was broken now. They were only conscious of relief at the prospect of an end to the grim farce.
“Damn clever work here,” said Stonor. “She says the very things that ought to pull the hardest.”
“Where could they have got the English words?” said Clare.
“Search me! It’s another mystery to add to what’s facing us.”
Meanwhile the flames were beginning to lick the twigs that Mary placed with trembling hands.
“If we make a big fire won’t it reveal us to them?” said Clare nervously.
“They won’t shoot,” said Stonor contemptuously. “Stage business is more their line; conjure-tricks.”
Imbrie, seeing that the game was up, had given over trying to taunt Stonor, and lay watching them with an unabashed grin. He seemed rather proud of his scheme, though it had failed.
“Can I smoke?” he said.