“We must start,” he said, hoarsely. “Give me your revolver.”
I drew it from my hip-pocket and passed it to him.
“Scarlett,” he began, “if we don’t reach—”
A quick rapping at the door silenced him; the young Countess stood in the hallway, bright-eyed, but composed, asking for me.
“The red and the white lights are gone,” she said. “There are four green lights on the tower and four blue lights on the halyards.”
I turned to Eyre. “This is interesting,” I said, 360 grimly. “I set signals for the Fer-de-Lance to land in force. Somebody has changed them. You had better get ready to go.”
Sylvia had shrunk away from Eyre. The Countess looked at her blankly, then at me.
“Madame,” I said, “there is little enough of happiness in the world—so little that when it comes it should be welcomed, even by those who may not share in it.”
And I bent nearer and whispered the truth.
Then I went to Sylvia, who stood there tremulous, pallid.