It was only the stress and excitement of
the shipwreck last week that he ventured to steal the chart which
I had so carefully prepared for him. I really think, if he hadn't
done that, I should have had to slip it into his pocket or absolutely
force it upon him somehow. He sends it off like a lamb and behold
the result! We've crippled the German Navy for the rest of the war."
"It was a faked chart, then, of course?" Richard demanded
breathlessly.
"And quite the cleverest I ever prepared," Sir Henry acknowledged.
"I can assure you that it would have taken in Von Tirpitz himself,
if he'd got hold of it."
"But where is Maderstrom now, sir?" Richard asked.
Sir Henry moved his head towards the window, where Philippa, for the
last few moments, had softly taken her place. Her eyes were watching
a green light bobbing up and down in the distance. Suddenly she gave
a little exclamation.
"It's moving!" she cried. "He's off!"
"He's safe on a Dutch trawler," Sir Henry declared. "And I think,"
he added, moving towards the sideboard, "it's time you and I had
a drink together, Dick."
They helped themselves to whisky and soda. There were still many
explanations to be given. Half-concealed by the curtain, Philippa
stood with her eyes turned seawards. The green light was dimmer
now, and the low, black outline of the trawler crept slowly over
the glittering track of moonlight.
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