“We’ll see what can be done,” said Mr. Reynolds kindly. “It may be easier to arrange for you to see her to-night than it would be to-morrow, after she has been charged.”
When they reached the Market Place they saw that there were a good many idlers still standing about near the steps leading up to the now closed door of the Council House.
“You had better wait down here while I go and see about it,” said James Hayley quickly. He did not like the thought of Rose standing among the sort of people who were lingering, like noisome flies round a honey-pot, under the great portico.
And when he had left them standing together in the great space under the stars, Rose turned to the stranger with whom she somehow felt in closer sympathy than with her own cousin.
“What makes you think our old servant was a——” she broke off. She could not bear to use the word “spy.”
“I’ll tell you,” he said slowly, “what has convinced me. But keep this for the present to yourself, Mrs. Blake, for I have said nothing of it to Mr. Hayley. Quite at the beginning of the War, it was arranged that all telegrams addressed to the Continent should be sent to the head telegraph office in London for examination. Now within the first ten days one hundred and four messages, sent, I should add, to a hundred and four different addresses, were worded as follows——” He waited a moment. “Are you following what I say, Mrs. Blake?”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “I think I understand. You are telling me about some telegrams—a great many telegrams——”
But she was asking herself how this complicated story could be connected with Anna Bauer.
“Well, I repeat that a hundred and four telegrams were worded almost exactly alike: ’Father can come back on about 14th. Boutet is expecting him.’”
Rose looked up at him. “Yes?” she said hesitatingly. She was completely at a loss.