“I don’t understand what you mean,” he said.
“No, and I can’t explain,” I replied, thinking of Kelly Eyre. “But Sylvia Elven is running a fearful risk here. Mornac knows her record. Buckhurst would betray her in a moment if he thought it might save his own skin. She ought to leave before the Fer-de-Lance sights the semaphore and reads the signal to land in force.”
“Then you’ll have to tell her,” he said, gloomily.
“I suppose so,” I replied, not at all pleased. For the prospect of humiliating her, of proving to this woman that I was not as stupid as she believed me, gave me no pleasure. Rather was I sorry for her, sorry for the truly pitiable condition in which she must now find herself. 346
As we reached the gates of Trécourt, dusty and tired from our moorland tramp, I turned and looked back. My signal was still set; the white arm of the semaphore glistened like silver against a brilliant sky of sapphire. Seaward I could see no sign of the Fer-de-Lance.
“The guns I heard at sea must have been fired from the German cruiser Augusta,” I suggested to Speed. “She’s been hovering off the coast, catching French merchant craft. I wish to goodness the Fer-de-Lance would come in and give her a drubbing.”
“Oh, rubbish!” he said. “What the deuce do we care?”
“It’s human to take sides in this war, isn’t it?” I insisted.
“Considering the fashion in which France has treated us individually, it seems to me that we may as well take the German side,” he said.
“Are you going to?” I asked.