Myra thought it over quickly.
“Yes,” she said, “if you will——”
But she never finished the sentence. At that moment someone caught her wrist in a grip of steel, and wrenched the pistol from her.
“Come, come, Miss McLeod,” said Fuller, “This is very un-neighbourly of you.”
Myra looked round her in despair. There must be some way out of this. She cudgelled her brains to devise some means of getting the better of her captives. Fuller laid the pistol on the table and sat down.
“You need not be alarmed,” he said. “We shall not hurt you. You will be left here, that is all. And we shall get safely away. After this we shall not be able to leave your precious lover with you, but Hilderman insists that he shall not be hurt, and we shall take him to Germany and treat him as a prisoner of war.”
Then Myra had an inspiration. She turned her head towards Fuller, as if she were looking about two feet to the right of his head.
“You may as well kill me as leave me here,” she said calmly.
“Nonsense,” said Hilderman. “If we leave you here, and see that you have no means of getting away by sea, you will have to find your way across the hills or round the cliffs. There is no road, and by the time you return to civilisation we shall be clear.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” said Myra. “You bargain on my falling over a precipice or something. A blind girl would have a splendid chance of getting back safely!”