"Where have you been?" she demanded. "Have you seen the Americans? I've been waiting here beside the path. They haven't passed. I met one of our agents in the woods—there was a misunderstanding at first—"
She stopped, stepped nearer, peered into Skelton's shadowy face: "Harry! What's the matter? Wh-why do you look at me that way—what are you doing! Let go of me—"
But Skelton had seized her by one arm and Macniff had her by the other.
"Are you crazy?" she demanded, struggling between them.
Skelton spoke first, but she scarcely recognised the voice for his:
"Who was that man you were talking to down by the Swiss wire?"
"I've told you. He's one of us. His name is Wolkcer—"
"What!"
"Wolkcer! That is his name—"
"Spell it backward!" barked Skelton. "We know what you have done to us! You have sold us to Recklow! That's what you done!"
"W-what!" stammered the girl. But Skelton, inarticulate with rage, began striking her and jerking her about as though he were trying to tear her to pieces. Only when the girl reeled sideways, limp and deathly white under his fury, did he find his voice, or the hoarse unhuman rags of it: