“I might have killed you—but I didn’t,” Hammersley was gasping. “You saw that, Udo, didn’t you?”
“You needn’t make apologies. I would have killed you. I tried to. It’s too bad—too bad,” he panted.
“I’m sorry,” Hammersley repeated. “Those papers—they’re England’s, Udo. They’re my property. I’ve got to take them.”
And without further words he put his hand inside the breast of the officer’s coat and took the papers out.
“I wish it were anybody but you,” he said.
“I don’t think you can get away with them.”
“I’m going to try.”
“I’ll prevent you if I can.”
“How?”