“Good Lord!” he muttered, while he and Nash were riding side by side. “Think of what might have happened—had that wire been intact! The more I think of it the weaker I get.”
“You’d never have found a piece of me,” Nash answered. “Nor of Miss Breen, for that matter. What a disappearance!”
“Who is this—Miss Breen?”
“Well,” Nash answered frankly, “as long as you have been doing your work faithfully, I might as well confess. She’s a spotter.”
The foreman swore. “A spotter?”
“Yes. But somehow I never feel afraid. Never have. Oh, I know how the majority of men feel about such things. Spotters represent all that is undesirable to them—and they take the easiest method of ridding themselves of so-called trouble-makers. Seems foolish to me. A man who is doing his work right should not fear inspection.”
“Don’t you?” asked the foreman.
“Why should I? Camp Forty-seven is run on the square. My books are always open. I’m willing that the whole engineering board should come here and make a personal examination.”
The foreman turned and glanced swiftly, curiously, into Nash’s face. “There’s no danger of such a thing happening, is there?”
“It isn’t probable,” Nash answered. “Why?”