THE YELLOW DOVE
had sunk upon the stool, her face buried in her hands.
“Oh, it’s cruel!” she murmured. “Let him go, Cyril.”
“Hardly,” said Hammersley coolly. “He’d raise a rumpus. Wouldn’t you, Udo?”
The officer’s head did not move.
“You see?” said Hammersley. “But I’m going to make him as comfortable as possible.” And taking him by the armpits he dragged his cousin over to the corner and laid him gently on the bed of balsam, and then stood beside the bed looking down at him thoughtfully, addressing him impersonally in English, as though thinking aloud.
“What’s to become of you, when we go, old chap—that’s what’s bothering me now.”
The German’s shoulders moved slightly.
“Oh, that’s all very well, but I can’t leave you up here to rot, my cousin. No one knows the way to the Crag of the Thorwald. You might be here a thousand years if Lindberg shouldn’t come.”
Von Winden made no sign. It was obvious that he had no further intention of helping in the solution of the difficulty.
“Let me stay here with him, Cyril,” Doris was pleading again. “It can do me no harm, and when you are well on your way, I will release him and go back to Blaufelden.”
“I can’t take that chance. You’re going with me.”
“Where?”
“To England.”
“But how?”
“Leave that to me. At present we must have breakfast. Do you know it’s almost ten o’clock?”
Bewildered, she watched him go to the large tin
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