“Look, Hammersley,” he whispered. “Maxwell gave me this! Perhaps you understand now.”
The Honorable Cyril fixed his eyeglass carefully and stared at the card-case.
“By Jove,” he muttered, with sudden interest.
“Now you understand?” said Rizzio.
“You!” whispered Hammersley, looking at him. The languor of a moment before had fallen from him with his dropping monocle.
“Yes, I. Now quick, the papers,” muttered Rizzio, putting the card-case in his pocket. “Someone may come at any moment.”
For a long space of time Hammersley stood uncertainly peering down at the pattern in the rug, then he straightened and, crossing the room, put his back to the fireplace.
“There may be a mistake,” he said firmly. “I can’t risk it.”
Rizzio stood for a moment staring at him as though he had not heard correctly. Then he crossed over and faced the other man.
“You mean that?”