"What sort of a man is he?" she asked.
"Not a bad-looking chap, talks well, but there's something suspicious about him.
"Does he speak with a foreign accent?"
"No; speaks English as well as I do," said Abel.
Eve smiled: Abel's English was at times a trifle weird.
"Then I'm sure he's not a German if he speaks as well as you, Abel," she said.
"Now you're chaffing me," he replied.
"Not at all; I am sure you speak very well."
"If he's not a German he's a spy of some sort I'm certain. He's always looking at maps, drawing plans, making notes and figuring up things. It's my belief he's hit on Little Trent by chance and came to my place because it's quiet and out of the way. There's something wrong with him; if he's not German he's in the pay of somebody connected with 'em. I'd bet my last bob he's a spy of some sort, and I'll keep my eye on him," said Abel.
When Abel went into the Inn he found a map spread on the table in the room occupied by Carl Meason. He glanced at it and saw small pins stuck in various places where lines were printed. Putting on his glasses he saw these were road lines and noticed most of them in which the pins were sticking ran from the coast inland; he had no time for further observation, as Meason entered the room.