"No," replied Morpeth. "Take him away."
The sliding door closed on the prisoner. "Tough Geordie" turned to the successful amateur barrister.
"By Jove, Cumberleigh," he exclaimed, "you bowled him out this time! But I thought you said that the log-book wasn't up to date."
"Neither was it," admitted Cumberleigh, passing his cigarette-case. "I took the liberty of imagining that it was and ascribing the authorship to that little worm of a von Loringhoven."
The R.A.F. captain was flushed with pleasure at his triumph. He had vindicated himself concerning his doubts of "Fennelburt's" genuineness. Until he had done so he was considerably uneasy in his mind, for he hated a suspicious nature.
"I suppose you can wireless the information to Auldhaig?" he continued. "Goodness only knows what that spy might be up to before he's laid by the heels!"
Morpeth shook his head.
"Sorry," he replied. "It can't be did. We mustn't get ourselves into the cart over our forthcoming stunt for the sake of putting a stopper on a spy. You see, we don't know who might tap the wireless. Fritz might, and that would make him horribly suspicious."
"Is there no other way to communicate with Auldhaig?" asked Cumberleigh.
"Possibly," admitted the R.N.R. officer. "We might send a code message by the first vessel we fall in with. I don't as a rule want to speak a vessel, unless she's a Fritz, and then I do more than speak. But I can't carry on with this crowd of Huns on board. Must get rid of them somehow, and the best plan will be to tranship them. Then'll be your chance to pass the word about your pal 'Fennelburt.'"