She had been crying, but in spite of her evident terror there was a vestige of spirit in her narrow brown eyes, and she held herself superbly.
Abbershaw’s somewhat precipitate entrance startled everybody, and he was on his feet again before Dawlish spoke.
The German’s dull, expressionless eyes rested on his face.
‘You,’ he said, in his peculiarly stilted English. ‘How foolish you are. Since you have come out of your turn you may stay. Sit down.’
As the young man stared at him he repeated the last words violently, but without any movement or gesture.
The man was almost unbelievably immobile.
Abbershaw remained where he was.
His anger was slowly getting the better of him, and he stood there stiffly, his flaming red hair on end and his round face white and set.
‘I insist that you listen to me,’ he said. ‘This terrorizing of women has got to stop. What are you gaining by it, anyway? Have you learnt anything of value to you from this girl?’ His voice rose contemptuously. ‘Of course you haven’t. You’re making fools of yourselves.’
The German looked at him steadily, unblinkingly, not a muscle of his face moved.