The room into which Meggie and Abbershaw were thrust so unceremoniously in the middle of the night was one of the three which opened out on to the small winding staircase leading down to Colonel Coombe’s study.
It was comparatively empty, containing only a pile of disused tapestries and old curtains, two or three travelling trunks and a chair.
Here, as in the other room, the window was high up in the wall and iron-barred. There was a second door in the room but it appeared to be heavily bolted on the other side. Abbershaw made a thorough investigation of the room with his torch, and then decided that escape was impossible, and they sat down on the tapestry in silence.
Until now they had not spoken very much, save for a brief account from Abbershaw of his interview with Campion and his journey through the passage from his cupboard. Meggie’s story was simpler. She had been seized on her way up to her room and dragged off through the green-baize door to be questioned.
Neither felt that much was to be gained from talking. The German had convinced them of the seriousness of their position, and Abbershaw was overcome with self-reproach for what he could only feel was his own fault. Meggie was terrified but much too plucky to show it.
As the utter silence of the darkness descended upon them, however, the girl laid her hand on Abbershaw’s arm. ‘We’ll be all right,’ she murmured. ‘It was wonderful of you to come and get me out like that.’
Abbershaw laughed bitterly. ‘I didn’t get you very far,’ he said.
The girl peered at him through the shadow.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s better up here than it was down there.’
Abbershaw took her hand and spoke with unusual violence. ‘My God, they didn’t hurt you?’ he said.