“Let’s have another look.”
“We can’t,” Norma whispered. “Someone in a white snow suit waylaid me on the coast road and took it from me, after a fight!”
“A fight!”
“And how!” Norma’s voice carried conviction.
“This sounds interesting and rather dangerous.” Rita Warren was impressed. “Tell me the rest. Tell me more of Fritz Kurnsen, no—no, I mean your Carl Langer. Fritz was my spy in India. It would be really ridiculous to think they were the same. He was shot, I’m sure!”
“Yes, that’s what you think.” The words were on Norma’s lips, but she did not say them. Instead she said: “Let me see—oh, yes, Carl Langer is very selfish and doesn’t work any more than he has to. He refused to take a picture of a poor fisherwoman. And she wanted to send the picture to her son in the service over in Africa.”
“He would!” Rita Warren agreed. “That is, if he were Fritz Kurnsen. But tell me about this fight with the white-robed figure.”
Norma told her. In a dramatic manner she described the entire battle.
“That’s bad!” the Lieutenant exclaimed. “So they cut the wires to the spotter’s shed!”
“They must have.”