“Oh,” she answered passionately, “he could hire some one else!”
“I don’t believe,” Traherne said thoughtfully, “we can possibly be so far from the frontier as he makes out.”
“How far did he say?” Lucilla exclaimed eagerly.
“Three weeks’ journey,” Traherne told her. “Yet they know all about things that happened less than a week ago.”
Crespin bent down, and picked up thoughtfully the revolver he’d thrown down in his rage. At least it would serve to brain one native, he reflected.
As he slipped it back in his belt, all the electric lights in the room went down suddenly, and as they did, a hissing and chittering sound buzzed faintly out unmistakably somewhere beyond the room.
“What is that?” Lucilla whispered, startled. “What an odd sound!”
“God!” Antony Crespin muttered hoarsely—a strange, eager look on his face.
“Major! Do you hear that!” Traherne cried.
“Do I hear it?” Crespin echoed exultantly. “I should say so!” and he sprang to his feet, listening, his head thrown back, his eyes glowing, and fixed on the ceiling.