She was wondering if Orace had, after all, been captured, but she was giving nothing away until she knew, and Bittle’s reply reassured her.
“The Pill Box will be raided at two o’clock, and Orace will be killed—that has been arranged.”
“Then you might give me a cigarette.”
He proffered his case and watched her tap the gasper on her thumbnail, and he marked that her hands did not shake.
“And a match, please.”
He held the light for her, and then she leaned back again and puffed a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling.
“Have you also arranged to kill Carn?” she questioned.
“Carn—that old fool? Why?”
“Detective-Inspector Carn, of Scotland Yard—that old fool. He went into Ilfracombe this afternoon to collect his posse. He knows the Tiger! . . . They must have had a breakdown somewhere, and that stopped him arriving in time—but that only means that by dawn the Atlantic fleet will be scouring the seas for you. I’ll bet that surprises you, Bittle!”
She spoke in quiet, even tones, and the certainty that she wasn’t bluffing hit Bittle between the eyes like the kick of a mule.