If you are to remain in charge of our
organization, Mr. Mortimer, we want to know where you are to be
found and how you spend your time. In short, we want to be sure
that you are not playing a game that most of us have at different
times played on subordinate agents... I mean, that when the
crisis comes, we fall into the trap and you walk away. You had
better realize once and for all that we are too old hands for
that sort of trick."
Here Max took up the thread. "Mrs. Malplaquet had put it very
strite, so she 'ad, and wot he wanted to know was what Mortimer
'ad to siy?"
Mortimer was very suave in his reply; a bad sign, thought
Desmond, for it indicated that he was not sure of himself. He was
rather vague, spoke about a vitally important mission that he had
had to fulfil but which he had now brought to a successful
conclusion, so that he was at length free to devote his whole
attention once more to the great task in hand.
Behrend brought his fist crashing down on the arm of the settee.
"Words, words," he cried, "it won't do for me. Isn't there a man
in the room besides me? You, Bellward, or you, Max, or you,
No.13? Haven't you got any guts any of You? Are you going to sit
here and listen to the soft soap of a fellow who has probably
sent better men than himself to their death with tripe of this
kind? It may do for you, but by the Lord, it won't do for me!"
Mortimer cleared his throat uneasily.
Pages:
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252