For one thing, he felt angry with the Chief who, he argued rather
irrationally, ought to have foreseen and prevented Mortimer thus
taking him by surprise. The Chief liked secrets--well, for a
change, he should be kept in the dark and the laugh would be on
Desmond's side. For a few minutes after Mortimer's departure,
Desmond had felt strongly inclined to go to the telephone which
stood on the desk in the library and ring up Mr. Elias, as he
should have done, but he resisted this impulse. Now, thinking
things over in the firelight, he was glad he had refrained. He
would ferret out for himself the exact part that Nur-el-Din and
Mortimer were playing in this band of spies. Nothing definite had
come of his interviews with them as yet. It would be time enough
to communicate with Headquarters when he had something positive
to report.
Then Desmond thrust the paper he had been studying back in his
pocket-book and jumped up. He felt that the inaction was stifling
him. He determined to go for a walk round the garden. That, at
least, was in the spirit of his orders.
Remembering that he was supposed to be suffering from a chill he
donned a heavy Ulster of Bellward's which was hanging in the hall
and wound a muffler round his neck. Then cramming a soft cap on
his head (he noted with satisfaction that Bellward's hats fitted
him remarkably well) he opened the front door and stepped
outside.
Pages:
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169