“Irene!” he said.
She was sitting there, a forlorn figure huddled up in a corner. The windows were closed. Each sheet of glass was so blurred by the swirling rain that she could not possibly make out the actual cause of the external hubbub. After the hard schooling of the past month she realised, of course, that a rescue was being attempted. Naturally, too, she put it down to the escape of Maertz. Although her heart was thrumming wildly, her soul on fire with a hope almost dangerous in its frenzy, she resolved not to stir from her prison until the one man she longed to see again in this world came to free her.
Yet when she heard his voice the tension snapped so suddenly that there was peril in the other extreme. She sat so still that Dalroy said a second time, with a curious sharpness of tone, “Irene!”
“Yes, dear,” she contrived to murmur hoarsely.
“It’s all over. A squad of British soldiers dropped from the skies. Every German is laid out, Von Halwig with the rest.”
“Von Halwig! Is he dead?”
“Yes.”
“I am glad. Arthur, they have not wounded you?”
“Not a scratch.”
“And Maertz?”