Mortimer!"
Mortimer shot a sudden glance at him. Desmond met it with a
frank, easy smile.
"I'm a devil for prudence myself!" he observed brightly.
CHAPTER XVIII. THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES
Action, or the promise of action, always acted on Desmond Okewood
like a nerve tonic. His visit to the inn, followed by the fencing
with Mortimer at dinner, had galvanized his nerves jaded with the
inaction of the preceding days. He averted his eyes from the
future, he put the past resolutely away. He bent his whole
attention on the problem immediately before him--how to carry off
the role of Bellward in front of four strangers, one of whom, at
least, he thought, must know the man he was impersonating; how to
extract as much information as possible about the gang and its
organization before uncovering his hand; finally, how to
overpower the four men and the one woman when the moment had come
to strike.
Mortimer and he were in the library. By Desmond's direction old
Martha had put out two bridge tables and cards. A tantalus stand
with siphons and glasses, an assortment of different colored
liqueurs in handsome cut-glass carafes and some plates of
sandwiches stood on a side-table. At Mortimer's suggestion
Desmond had told the housekeeper that, once the guests had
arrived, she might go to bed.
Pages:
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239