In the brief moment that it
required to turn on the lights he had jumped to a sickening
conviction that Graham was at the bottom of her visit, and her
appearance in full light confirmed this.
"Come into the library," he said. "We can talk in there." He led
the way and drew up a chair for her. But she did not sit down. She
steadied herself by its back, instead.
"You think it's about Graham," she began. "It isn't, not directly,
that is. And my coming is terrible, because it's my own father.
They're going to blow up the munition plant, Mr. Spencer!"
"When?"
"To-night, I think. I came as fast as I could. I was locked in.
"Locked in?" He was studying her face.
"Yes. Don't bother about that now. I'm not crazy or hysterical.
I tell you I heard them. I've been a prisoner or I'd have come
sooner. To-day they brought something - dynamite or a bomb - in a
suit-case - and it's gone to-night. He took it - my father."
He was already at the telephone as she spoke.
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