"I see," he said, in a low voice, "she told you when the Malta was to sail."
And though Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was too cautious to admit the fact, John knew in his heart that it was absolutely true. Lady Rachel, exercising her silly desire for gossip, had been tricked into imparting this fatal information. Because of this she was, John believed, just as much responsible for the sinking of the Malta as if she herself had discharged the torpedo which wrought its doom. She was, in fact, an unwitting traitor to her country. And John, as he moved from Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's side, felt a certain implacable animosity towards this vain society woman, with her wide eyes, her high-pitched voice, her elegant aristocratic poses.
Nevertheless, he was politeness itself as he drew her towards the window.
"I'd like to have a word with you alone, Lady Rachel," he said.
When they were out of earshot of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth and Mrs. Pomfret Bond, John lowered his voice, and looked down into the big, long-lashed eyes.
"You were speaking a few minutes ago, Lady Rachel," he said, "of the Malta."
Lady Rachel smiled and nodded.
"I think," went on John, "I ought to inform you that I am a member of the Intelligence Department!"
"Oh, are you really?" exclaimed Lady Rachel, looking at him with a sudden vivid interest. "I have so often wanted to meet some one in the secret service. I think you all so splendid!"
"I am glad you appreciate us," John answered dryly; "perhaps, Lady Rachel," he went on, "you would like to know more about our department?"