Tired though she was, she left the house again, and slowly walked round to see her old friend.
Miss Forsyth smiled over it, but she also frowned, and she frowned more than she smiled when Mrs. Otway exclaimed, “Did you ever see such an extraordinary thing?”
“It is not so extraordinary as you think, Mary! I must honestly tell you that in my opinion the writer of this anonymous letter is right in believing that there is a good deal of spying and of conveying valuable information to the enemy.”
She waited a moment, and then went on, deliberately: “I suppose you are quite sure of your old Anna, my dear? Used she not to be in very close touch with Berlin? Has she broken all that off since the War began?”
“Indeed she has!” cried Mrs. Otway eagerly. She was surprised at the turn the conversation had taken. Was it conceivable that Miss Forsyth must be numbered henceforth among the spy maniacs of whom she knew there were a good many in Witanbury? “She made every kind of effort early in the War—for the matter of that I did what I could to help her—to get into touch with her relations there, for she was very anxious and miserable about them. But she failed—absolutely failed!”
“And how about her German friends in England? I suppose she has German friends?”
“To the best of my belief, she hasn’t a single German acquaintance!” exclaimed Anna’s mistress confidently. “She used to know those unfortunate Fröhlings rather well, but, as I daresay you know, they left Witanbury quite early in the War—in fact during the first week of war. And she certainly hasn’t heard from them. I asked her if she had, some time ago. Dear Miss Forsyth, do believe me when I say that, apart from her very German appearance, and her funny way of talking, my poor old Anna is to all intents and purposes an Englishwoman. Why, she has lived in England twenty-two years!”
There came a very curious, dubious, hesitating expression on Miss Forsyth’s face. “I daresay that what you say is true,” she said at last. “But even so, if I were you, Mary, I should show her that letter. She may be in touch with some of her own people—I mean in all innocence. It would be very disagreeable for you if such turned out to be the case. I happen to know that Witanbury is believed to be—well, what shall I call it?—a spy centre for this part of England. I don’t know that it’s so much the city, as the neighbourhood. You see, we’re not so very far away from one of the beaches which it is thought the Germans, if they did try a landing, would choose as a good place.”
Mrs. Otway’s extreme astonishment showed in her face.
“You know I never gossip, Mary, so you may take what I say as being true. But I beg you to keep it to yourself. Don’t even tell Rose, or the Dean. My information does not come from anyone here, in Witanbury. It comes from London.”