A Question Of Honor by Nita Abrams

Author:Nita Abrams
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: 0
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Desperate to reach the cove quickly, Southey and Drayton took the risk of a lantern. They had come in at an inlet

two miles north of the boathouse, and Southey, who had only been there twice before, knew that they could more

than double their speed if he had some light. His main concern was to recognize the rock formation that guarded

the cove, so that they could extinguish the lantern before it was seen. He was therefore slightly ahead of Drayton,

peering up at the outline of the cliffs against the charcoal sky, when he heard the faint echo of a gunshot. A startled

cry escaped him; the next moment he was suddenly seized from behind; a knee went into his back, and he found

himself on the ground with a dagger at his throat. "Tell your friend back there to raise his hands and approach us

slowly or you are a dead man," hissed his assailant in French.

"Drayton!" called Southey, forgetting momentarily that he was himself a French agent, "I'm taken, run for it!"

There was a disgusted exclamation from his captor. "For God's sake, Southey," said a well-known voice in

English. "What is Drayton doing here? What was that shot? And how did you get down from that cliff so quickly after

you whistled me off? I thought just now that you were a French agent, coming up to intercept me." Approaching at a

run, Drayton held up the lantern and saw Nathanson sitting on top of Southey's shoulders, sheathing his dagger.

"An interesting surmise," Drayton drawled, overhearing the last phrase. "And not far from the truth. Don't let him up, Nathanson. Now that we know you're safe, he's under arrest. He's been selling information to the French. Mostly

false, but the money was real enough. You almost walked into a trap just now. He was juggling too many balls and

let one slip."

Nathanson shot a glance at Southey. "So I was right," he said slowly. "You could have come to me, you know. At the very least you might have realized that rumors of financial difficulties would reach me fairly quickly through my

uncle."

Southey had rolled over onto his back and was staring up at the cliffs. Straight up from the beach they rose, gray

and rugged, notched with scars from the unending attack of the water. His face was bleak. Then he sat up

suddenly. "What whistle?" he said. "Drayton and I just arrived. Did you actually go to the boathouse?"

Nathanson frowned. "Yes, I was nearly there when someone signaled with our whistle code and warned me off. I

was on my way back and heard you blundering up the shore like a quarry gang." Southey flushed. This was a sore

point; he had always suspected that he had been given the liaison job in London because he did not have the same

tracking skills as some of the more experienced couriers.

"We did not signal," he said. "It must have been Silvio."

"Silvio stayed in London," said Nathanson, looking worried. "I asked him to check on something I heard about a Spanish delegation to the Regent.

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