“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
“Yes,” he answered slowly, “I ’ll promise you that—if you want—”
He hesitated. But anything save frankness was utterly abhorrent to him.
“I might as well tell you,” he added simply, “I overheard your talk with Cloud, that is, with Graeme, last night. I could n’t help it. I was just above you on the deck-house.”
“Then you know?” she asked quietly.
“The same as you,” he nodded. “I got it off Poldhu half an hour before you came aft. It ’s a bad mix up. They ’re sure to pinch him at quarantine. And I ’ll never be able to cut it all out. It must be the biggest story in England! Cosmo Graeme! Why, I ’ve always heard of Cosmo Graeme! He stroked the eight at Oxford, did n’t he? Give him up? No—I won’t give him up! Not for an old Ponsonby, or Scotland Yard, or the whole Marconi Company!”
"Oh, Micky!” she cried, her face flushing. “What a brick you are!—It will be our secret, won’t it? We ’ll not tell a soul! Give me your hand on it.”
She gave him her hand and Micky took it in his freckled paw and held it for a moment, and124
