“Tell us—”
He did not answer at once. They led him back into the shadows where Peter and Berthe had been; gathered closely about, so their voices would not carry.
“We were hoping not to see you,” said Abel, “yet sending our dearest thoughts. What you have done is good, and we will not be denied a song. Speak, Poltneck—”
“I was all right till you went. I was thinking of everything—but then I became blind. The work in the hospitals palled. I did not do what I could. They saw I was different, and watched closely. That made me mad. I am a fool to temper and pride. All I have is something that I did not earn—something thrust upon me that makes sounds. The rest is emptiness. In fact there must be emptiness where sounds come from—”
“We know better than that,” said Fallows. “Tell us and we will judge.”
Poltneck straightened up and met the eyes of Peter. “This is the correspondent?” he asked.
“He came up from the field this morning and in looking for us—fell under suspicion,” Berthe explained.
The long hard arm stretched out to Peter, who still was somewhat at sea, as Boylan had been, and afraid that he detected a taint of the dramatic.
“I saw your companion in the bomb-proof pit,” Poltneck declared. “In fact, I just came from there, but I will tell you.... I was perhaps two hours or more in the hospital, after you three were taken, when they sent for me. I thought it a summons, of course, such, as you—”
He glanced at the faces about him, and continued: