The mention of her husband's name caused her to stand still and listen. The men were discussing the raid, from which she gathered that it was supposed the Zeppelins were guided by a motor car with a powerful light. Strong remarks were passed and hopes expressed that the scoundrel would be caught. It was surmised he was in the pay of the Huns—a spy—and he deserved shooting.
"He's a mysterious fellow," said the landlord, alluding to Carl Meason. "He was out in his motor half the night, came home between two and three. I'd like to know where he went; if I had something definite to go on I'd give warning to the police."
"You'd better do that in any case," said one of the men. "You'll be on the safe side then."
"That's all right," said the landlord, "but I might get into trouble if there's nothing wrong with him."
"Risk it, Frank; it's worth it. There's no end of these spies about, and the sooner they're stopped the better."
"I'll think it over—if he's a spy I'm sorry for his wife. She's a pretty quiet little woman, far too good for him."
Jane heard this conversation; she saw the door move and stepped into the hall. It was the landlord looked out and wished her good-day.
"I have been packing," she said, with a faint attempt at a smile.
"You are leaving?" he asked.
"I believe so. My husband talks about going this afternoon," she replied.