“With this exception,” grimly. Lanagan turned for the panel and sought the spring. “It is ten minutes after twelve,” he said laconically. “I must leave here. Open the door, if you please.”
Neither man moved. The Secretary said:
“We have not quite covered our ground. You have not answered my question.”
“The pin I received from a friend who claimed to have taken it from a pawnshop. The packet was put in my pocket by a swarthy man who met me on the street and who said ‘scoraya.’ So did another chap in Koshloff’s automobile. I wanted to see the thing through that so accidentally came my way.
“Now, when I came in here I did not come alone. I am fully aware that nations, planning wars to cost hundreds or thousands of lives, would not scruple at one. My friends should be breaking in here now. I told them to give me until twelve o’clock.
“So far as your man Carlos is concerned, I can only surmise that he was to meet a courier at the steamer, but had his pin stolen from him. The courier then wandered the streets seeking the pin, and by happy chance tumbled against me wearing it, and likewise wandering the streets. The other ‘scoraya’ boy I presume was one of Koshloff’s secret service men, sent out to see that the messenger reached here safely. He must have likewise picked me up on the matinée promenade by accident.”
“Correctly reasoned,” murmured Koshloff. “And I believe you have cleared the situation. A most remarkable series of coincidences; but then, anything may happen in this remarkable city of yours.”
“Do I go peaceably?” asked Lanagan, glancing at his watch. His voice hardened a trifle. It was twelve-thirty.
“After—ah—a bit,” purred Koshloff, and the next instant was gazing coolly into Lanagan’s police Colt.
Koshloff lifted his hand with an indolent gesture, to push the muzzle to one side, took a look into Lanagan’s eyes, thought better of it, and turned with mock deprecation to the Secretary. That gentleman was watching Lanagan with frank admiration.