"Oh! not at all!" protested John. He really did not think himself clever, but he was satisfied with the present position as he found it. He had taken her coat, and was holding it over his arm. There was no weapon in its pockets.
A roar of artillery again filled the room. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's eyes blazed in exaltation and excitement.
"Do you hear those guns?"
"I can hear scarcely anything else!"
Beecher Monmouth's widow paused, looking him over, excoriating him with her fine eyes; then went on slowly and intensely.
"Well, Mr. Treves, perhaps it will surprise you and your friends to know that we have outwitted you from the beginning."
"I don't quite get your meaning," said John.
She lifted her head and laughed aloud in his face. Her mask was off. She let herself go. She swept her arm toward the darkness of the night, then looked at him with the eyes of a fiend. "Those guns you hear now mean that we are making our great attack." Her voice rose shrilly; her scarlet lips writhed. She was truly possessed at that moment. "For all your espionage and cunning we shall be able to make our way into Portsmouth. We shall deliver a blow from which you will not easily recover. Your ships——"
John moved to the end of the table and motioned towards the door.
"Thank you," said he, "that is very interesting, no doubt, but I think it is time we were going."