"Would you let them send it for me—wireless?" she asked timidly. "It's—it's to Mr. Peterman."
All Bull's desire to smile had passed. He nodded.
"Yes," he said. "If you wish it. It shall be sent right off."
His tone had suddenly lost its warmth. It seemed as if the mention of Peterman's name had destroyed his goodwill.
Nancy searched his face anxiously. The man's brows had depressed and his strong jaws had become set. She knew that expression. Usually it was the prelude to uncompromising action.
She drew a deep breath.
"Oh, I know," she cried. "I know the thing you're thinking. You're reminding yourself of all I've done, and of the injury I've striven to inflict on you. You're wondering at my temerity in asking you to help me communicate with your enemies. But please, please don't think worse of me than you can help. I'm not just trying to use you. It's not that. Will you read the message? Maybe it'll tell you better than any words of mine."
The paper was held out to him in an unsteady hand. Bull ignored it. He shook his head.
"No," he said.
Nancy sprang to her feet.