"Have you anything of this man's?" McKinnon deliberately demanded of the girl, realising that his intrusion had not yet amounted to a complete betrayal of his own position.
The upturned gaze of the girl against the wall and that of the wireless operator met. Ganley moved closer to the door, as though to guard it. No one spoke until McKinnon repeated the question.
"Yes," said the panting and puzzled woman, "I have something of his."
"What is it?" asked the operator.
"A slip of paper."
"Where is it?"
"I have it," was all the girl answered.
"Then hand it out to me," ordered Ganley.
Her eyes were still on McKinnon's as her hand went to her breast.
"No, hand it to me," interposed McKinnon as he watched the slowly withdrawn hand that held a crumpled sheet of white paper. The wide, troubled eyes of the girl turned from one man to the other. Then she opened the slip of paper and glanced down at it. Ganley's hand went out for it authoritatively. The look in McKinnon's eyes was equally imperative.
It was then that the girl fell back a step or two along the cabin wall. She held the paper between her hands, as she did so. Then, with a
