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 gagged, but the men informed us that we'd regret attempting to shout. We were lying around off Hy Brasail, with the Ailouros in tow, and our captors entertained us with vivid accounts of exactly what would happen to the transport, to you, and—if we didn't behave—to us. There we stayed. The sun set, and we saw Silver Shoal light up and knew that you were 'competent.' And there was absolutely no way to warn you, to get you word. We hoped against hope that something would happen to stop the Count—his beastly name is Grussmann, by the way—from carrying out his end of the scheme. But the hours went on. Then we saw the Light vanish."

"You can imagine what we were feeling!" Elspeth put in.

"Our men began to be nervous then. Their plan was, apparently, that the Count—Grussmann, I should say—and Schmidt were to join us, and they were all to make some sort of getaway. We were to be marooned on Hy Brasail or somewhere, I imagine. But Grussmann didn't appear. More time dragged on, and then Silver Shoal blazed out again. We had no notion of how it happened, or why. Do you remember all the theories, Elspeth, ours and