Read Online The Guinea Stamp by Alice Chetwynd Ley - Free Book Online Page A

cannot but be aware of the deadly peril in which the country stands at present.”
    “With beacons piled high on every hill, ready to be lit, and feverish plans for retreat should the enemy invade our shores, it is scarcely possible to be unaware of it,” she agreed, laconically. “All the more reason, Mr.—er, Captain Jackson?—for my viewing your present activities with suspicion. You admit that you are anxious to evade Sir George—in fact, anyone in authority. Then, too, you have sustained what looks very like a bullet wound, and admit that you are running away from someone. For all I know, you could very well be—let us say—an enemy spy. One hears stories—”
    “And if I were, do you suppose I should stay to parley with you in this way? To overpower you should not prove an impossible task, I believe.”
    “Upon my word,” she said, impatiently, “you must think me a simpleton! You admit that you are already being pursued by one party. Is it likely that you would take action which might involve you with others? No, I can see perfectly that your only possible course is to persuade me to silence by telling some plausible tale that will take me in.”
    “Then I am lost indeed!” he answered, with a wry smile and an expressive spreading of his hands. “I can easily see that yours is far from being a credulous disposition.”
    “Quite so,” she answered. “Then perhaps I might now have the truth?”
    He thought rapidly for a moment. The truth, even if he dared to tell it, would sound like an even more fantastic lie than any he had yet uttered. Yet this young woman must be won over in some way: how much dared he say?
    “You would not believe me—”
    He broke off suddenly. A knock had sounded on the door.
    The two occupants of the room exchanged glances. The man’s was questioning, the girl’s faintly surprised. Her expression changed quickly, and she motioned silently to the curtains which concealed the long French windows. In a trice, he had slipped silently behind the sheltering folds of damask.
    Miss Feniton remained where she was, but picked up a book which was lying close at hand.
    “Come in,” she invited, in even tones.
    A ruddy-cheeked abigail obeyed the summons. Miss Feniton looked up from her book abstractedly.
    “M’lady’s compliments, ma’am, and would you be so very obliging as to slip up to the withdrawing room for a few moments, if you please?”
    Miss Feniton nodded. “Thank you; I will follow you presently,” she said, in dismissal.
    The girl withdrew. Miss Feniton waited a while, to be certain that she was out of earshot, then crossed to the window and moved the curtain aside. The man made as if to step out, but she shook her head.
    “No doubt you heard what passed,” she said, in a rapid undertone. “I am called away, but will return here as soon as possible. Meanwhile, you would be well advised to wait where you are, I am quite determined to hear your story: should it satisfy me, it may be that I shall consent to remain silent about your activities of this evening. Should I find you gone when I return, I shall know what to think—and how to act.”
    With this veiled threat, she was about to turn away, but he stayed her with a gesture of his unbandaged arm.
    “One moment, only!” he whispered. “Tell me something, in your turn—what is your real name?”
    She gave him a quizzical look. “May I remind you that I don’t yet know yours? Still, since you will have it, I see no harm in giving you the information. I am a friend of Miss Lodge’s—Joanna Feniton. And now I must go!”
    She turned hurriedly away, thus missing the expression which crossed the man’s face—a look compounded of surprise, consternation and amusement.
    When the door had closed behind her, he emitted a low whistle.
    “Good God!” he muttered.
    He thought rapidly for a moment, then pushed aside the curtain and went to the writing desk. He picked up the quill which Miss Feniton had been