“Nothing,” replied the British Government’s loyal ally blandly. “Nothing whatsoever. In due time the proper authorities will be informed that you were lost overboard on an expedition after crocodiles, and owing to the unfortunate proclivities of those depraved reptiles, your body was not recovered. I do not imagine that the loss will afflict the Government so deeply as you imagine.”
The Honourable Tony’s manner changed abruptly from enchanted amusement to the cold insolence of a badly spoiled young man dismissing his valet.
“And that’s enough,” he said. “Take your army and be off. You’re dashed amusing, but you overdo it. If an apology from you were worth the breath you draw, I’d have one out of you for the country that I represent and its representative. As it is, I give you fair warning to clear out; I’m about fed up.”
“Till I count three to stand aside,” remarked His Imperial Majesty conversationally, abandoning the royal “we” as though it were no longer necessary in so informal a discussion, “I shall regret the bridge.”
“You can count to three thousand if you can get that far,” the Honourable Tony informed him politely. “But while you’re about it you might remember that we’re in the twentieth century, not the Adelphi Theatre.”
“We are in Asia,” said His Imperial Majesty. “Life is good, Excellency, and Death, I am told, is a long and dreary affair. The woman is not worth it—a gutter rat out of the music halls. It is her good fortune to amuse me. Stand aside, I beg!”
“My mother was from the music halls,” said the Honourable Tony. “I have half a mind to mop up the floor with you before I turn in.”
“You are a brave man,” said His Imperial Majesty equably. “And a fool.” He turned to the black and emerald giants, and they quivered slightly. “Attention!”
The giants ceased quivering and stood very straight.
“Ready!” said Bhakdi softly. The pearl-handled automatics flashed like jewels.