"Another vessel sunk, sir, by the submarines. It was struck without warning, and it is feared that every one on board has been lost."
"I don't know, sir, but some men in the village had got hold of a Sunday newspaper and were talking about it. I heard too that two people, one an English woman, and the other a German man, have been taken up as spies. It seems that they have been supplying the Germans with petrol."
The man's words seemed almost a commentary on what I had been thinking, and I turned, almost unconsciously, to the newspaper I had been reading.
"The Germans are too clever for us, sir, and there is no dirty trick of which they are not capable. I am told they jeered at the people who were trying to save themselves from drowning, and even shot at them. I am not very proud of my county, sir."
"Why, sir, there are dozens of young fellows in St. Issey who won't enlist, and I was told to-night of seven of them who are off to America."
"Why, it seems that the Squire has been at them and told them they are cowards to stay at home at a time like this. It seems, too, sir, that poor Tom Rosewarn's death, as well as that of the Vicar's son, has roused some of the people terribly, and these young fellows have been called such names that they are ashamed to remain at home, but rather than join the Army, as they ought to do, they are leaving for America. I have never been a believer in conscription, but the stories have very nearly converted me to that way of thinking."
When Simpson had gone to bed, I put on a thick overcoat and again went out into the night. I wondered whether the fancies that had been in my mind had any foundation of truth, and whether I ought not to go to the authorities and make my suspicions known. There were a great many things against such a course of action, however. Local officials were not very clever, and did not act with much finesse. The Germans would be prepared for anything they might do, and if anything were done at all, it must be done dexterously and secretly.
By this time I knew, or at least thought I did, every inch of the cliffs around my home. I had discovered, too, an opening through the bushes which led far down towards the sea. Again acting on impulse, I found this little opening, and scrambled down the steep cliff-side until I came, perhaps, within forty feet of the water. I was entirely hidden from view, as at this part thick brushwood grew to within a few yards of the beach. Besides, it was very dark, and I knew that if I went farther I should risk my life. Up above me the wind soughed its way through the little copse, and over the heights of the beetling cliffs which rose darkly beyond. Out at sea I could hear the sad monotone of the waves. Now and then I heard the cry of a sea-bird, as though it were disturbed in its nest among the rocks.