“Listen,” he said, with a thrill of excitement. “Maybe it’s not necessary to tell you. Maybe it’s stale news. Anyway, to-morrow is to be the day of Fyles’s coup.” He paused, watching for the effect of his words.
Just for an instant the woman’s eyes flashed, but whether in fear, or merely excited interest, it would have been impossible to say.
“Go on,” she said.
“To-morrow the village is to be surrounded by a chain of police patrols. Every entry will be closely watched for the incoming cargo of whisky. Fyles reckons to get me red-handed.”
“You?”
Kate’s eyes flashed again.
“Sure. That’s how he reckons.”
They looked into each other’s eyes steadily. Charlie’s were lit by a curious baffling irony.
It was finally Charlie who spoke.
“Fyles’s plans are not likely to disconcert—anybody. There is no fear of legitimate capture. It is treachery—that is to be feared.”