And the answer:
“Prussian dragoons are scouting toward Bannalec. I will send a messenger to them if I can. This is all. Be careful. Good-bye.” 343
“Good-bye,” clicked the instrument in the next room. There was a rustle of skirts, a tap of small shoes on the stone floor. I leaned forward and looked through the little partition window; Sylvia Elven stood by the table, quietly drawing on her gloves. Her face was flushed and thoughtful.
Slowly she walked toward the door, hesitated, turned, hurried back to the instrument, and set the switch. Then, without seating herself, she leaned over and gave the station call, three S's.
“I forgot to say that the two Yankee officers of military police, Scarlett and Speed, are a harmless pair. You have nothing to fear from them. Good-bye.”
And the reply:
“Watch them all the same. Be careful, madame, they are Yankees. Good-bye.”
When she had gone, closing the outer door behind her, I sprang to the key, switched on, rattled out the three S’s and got my man, probably before he had taken three steps from his table.
“I forgot to say,” I telegraphed, using a light, rapid touch to imitate Sylvia’s—“I forgot to say that, in case the treasure-train is held back to-night, the Augusta must run for the English Channel.”
“What’s that?” came back the jerky reply.