’ ‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought. And an Englishman, which is my right of birth. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. “Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. Martha had the square look of solid English citizenry, which was not deceiving. Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom. Mac—the old gossip—knew about everything going on in that part of the world; and if Enschede was anything up to the picture the girl had drawn, McClintock would have heard of him, naturally.
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