“And this Miss Carryl—did she want to go out?”
“She owns the Deal farm. Yes, she wanted to drive over every day; and I let her until, as I say, I felt obliged to stop the whole business—not permit anybody to go out or come in except our own troops.”
“And still the leakage continues?”
“It certainly does,” he said dryly.
The Special Messenger seated herself on one end of the military chest and gazed absently at space. Her booted foot swung gently at intervals.
“So this Miss Carryl owns John Deal’s farm,” she mused aloud.
“They run it on shares, I believe.”
“Oh! Was she angry when you shut out her tenant, John Deal, and shut her inside the lines?”
“No; she seemed a little surprised—said it was inconvenient—wanted permission to write him.”
“You gave it?”