“Yes, yes!  Yes, it promises that way,” he replied thoughtfully.

Quietly he began a considerate catechism.  Soon she was subtly understanding that her answers lacked the convincing details that he sought.  She longed to avert her eyes from his for an instant, but she knew that this would be fatal.  She felt the force of him directed in professional channels, free of all personal relations, beating as a strong light on her bare statements.  How could a woman ever have learned two such vital secrets?  How could it happen that two such critical points as Bordir and Engadir should go undefended?  No tactician, no engineer but would have realized their strategic importance.  Did she know what she was saying?  How did she get her knowledge?  These, she understood, were the real questions that underlay Westerling’s polite indirection.

“Invention!  Quick, quick!  How did you find out?  Quick and naturally and obviously—­pure invention; no half-way business!” whispered still another voice, the voice of that most facile of story-builders, Feller, this time.

“But I have not told you the sources of my information!  Isn’t that like a woman!” she exclaimed.  “You see, it did not concern me at all at the time I heard it.  I didn’t even realize its importance and I didn’t hear much,” she proceeded, her introduction giving time for improvisation.  “You see, Partow was inspecting the premises with Colonel Lanstron.  My mother had known Partow in her younger days when my grandfather was premier.  We had them both to luncheon.”

“Yes?” put in Westerling, betraying his eagerness.  Partow and Lanstron!  Then her source was one of authority, not the gossip of subalterns!

“And it occurs to me now that, even while he was our guest,” she interjected in sudden indignation—­“that even while he was our guest Partow was planning to make our grounds a redoubt!”

“Bully!  Very feminine and convincing!” whispered the voice of Feller.

“After luncheon I remember Partow saying, ’We are going to have a look at the crops,’ and they went for a walk out to the knoll where the fighting began.”

“Yes!  When was this?” Westerling asked keenly.

“Only about six weeks ago,” answered Marta.

“That’s it!  That’s splendid!  If you’d said a year ago there would have been time enough in the meanwhile to fortify!” whispered the voice of Feller encouragingly.  “You’re going fine!  Keep it up!”

“Later, I came upon them unexpectedly after they had returned,” Marta went on.  “They were sitting there on that seat concealed by the shrubbery.  I was on the terrace steps unobserved and I couldn’t help overhearing them.  Their voices grew louder with the interest of their discussion.  I caught something about appropriations and aeroplanes and Bordir and Engadir, and saw that Lanstron was pleading with his chief.  He wanted a sum appropriated for fortifications to be applied to building planes and dirigibles.  Finally, Partow consented, and I recall his exact words:  ’They’re shockingly archaically defended, especially Engadir,’ he said, ’but they can wait until we get further appropriations in the fall.’” She was so far under the spell of her own invention that she believed the reality of her words, reflected in her wide-open eyes which seemed to have nothing to hide.