The fury beyond the table paid no heed. With both hands on its surface she thrust her chin towards him and spat out her words.
"Every fort on this coast has been silenced by our finesse!"
John, listening to the roar of the guns, was unperturbed.
"That was a pretty heavy one," he remarked, as the room reverberated again to the renewed crash of artillery.
"Our guns, you fool!" Mrs. Beecher Monmouth lifted her voice to a scream. "Our guns—German guns!"
John stared at her. He had never seen anything like the tornado of passion that was sweeping through her. He listened, enthralled, against his will. Nevertheless, he was master of the scene. She hated him—loathed him—because he had tricked her. She had expended charm, she had enveloped him in the sunshine of her beauty to no end. Her vanity was outraged. He had enjoyed her caresses and laughed in his sleeve.
"The boom——"
"What about the boom?" John asked.
"From Ponsonby Lighthouse to Windsor Fort the boom is not down to-night. Think of that. Your searchlights—where are they? Dark—dark—every one of them." She dropped her voice suddenly in a measured, triumphant whisper, "and our Unter-see boats are creeping in."
Even now she was beautiful, but there was something animal-like in the distortion of her mouth.