. . . "But he can't be far off. ‘The general himself?’ ‘How shall I get my inheritance if the general will believe that pig?’ ‘Do wish you wouldn’t keep on calling him a pig,’ Martha begged. “I’m ready,” said Ann Veronica, closing her microscope-box with a click, and looking for one brief instant up the laboratory. God send the fellow did turn out to be a spy! Beckoning Roding on, Gerald crept down the corridor towards the source of the swishing he had heard. Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not.
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