THE YELLOW DOVE
rock. If you don’t return to Blaufelden by tomorrow, Lindberg will find you.”
“But suppose anything happened to Lindberg,” Doris was whispering. “Ah, Cyril, it would be terrible to leave him here. I should dream of it every night of my life.”
Udo’s eyes smiled at her.
“There is little danger. Graf von Winden is not a man to be so easily beaten. He will get away by tonight. But in the meanwhile we will have gone far enough to be out of his reach.”
“Where are we going?”
“To England, child—in the Yellow Dove,” he laughed.
Doris started away from him, her eyes suddenly brilliant with excitement, and the prisoner, who had lain without movement, showed sudden signs of activity, his eyes frowning and his head wagging in anxiety.
“He wants to speak,” said Doris.
Hammersley bent over his cousin.
“Will you promise not to shout?”
Von Winden nodded quickly. So Hammersley untied the bandages that held the handkerchief in the prisoner’s mouth and helped him to a sitting posture.
“You must not go,” he stammered quickly in German. “It is impossible. You will fail. I warn you.”
“Why do you think so?”
“The machines are guarded, and the spark-plugs of your Taube have been removed and hidden.”
“H’m,” said Hammersley thoughtfully. “Excellenz neglects nothing.”
“You would go to your death.”
“Perhaps. Thanks for the warning,” said Hammersley bluntly. “I’m going just the same.”
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