“Yes!”
“Where is it?”
“Safe,” Dominey replied.
Seaman mopped his forehead.
“It needs to be,” he muttered. “I have orders to see it destroyed. We can talk of that presently. Sometimes, when I am away from you, I tremble. It may sound foolish, but you have in your possession just the two things—that map and Von Terniloff's memoirs—which would wreck our propaganda in every country of the world.”
“Both are safe,” Dominey assured him. “By the by, my friend,” he went on, “do you know that you yourself are forgetting your usual caution?”
“In what respect?” Seaman demanded quickly.
“As you stooped to sit down just now, I distinctly saw the shape of your revolver in your hip pocket. You know as well as I do that with your name and the fact that you are only a naturalised Englishman, it is inexcusably foolish to be carrying firearms about just now.”
Seaman thrust his hand into his pocket and threw the revolver upon the table.
“You are quite right,” he acknowledged. “Take care of it for me. I took it with me to Ireland, because one never knows what may happen in that amazing country.”