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Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"The Zeppelin's Passenger"

I was simply thinking of yesterday evening."
He slipped from his horse and stood before her. His long, severe
face had seldom seemed more malevolent.
"I had enough to make me bad-tempered," he declared. "I had tracked
down a German spy, step by step, until I had him there, waiting for
arrest--expecting it, even--and then I got that wicked message."
"What was that wicked message after all?" she enquired.
"That doesn't matter," he answered. "It was from a quarter where
they ought to know better, and it ordered me to make no arrest. I
have sent to the War Office to-day a full report, and I am praying
that they may change their minds."
Philippa sighed.
"If you hadn't received that telegram last night," she observed,
"it seems to me that I should have been a widow to-day."
He frowned, and struck his boot heavily with his riding whip.
"Yes, I heard of that," he admitted. "I dare say if he hadn't
gone, though, some one else would."
"Would you have gone if you had been there?" she asked.
"If you had told me to," he replied, looking at her steadfastly.
Philippa felt a little shiver. There was something ominous in the
intensity of his gaze and the meaning which he had contrived to
impart to his tone. She rose to her feet.
"Well," she said, "don't let me keep you here. I am getting cold.


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