Hammersley shrugged.
“You realize that it makes you an object of suspicion?” asked the other.
“How? In doing what was expected of me?” said Hammersley easily.
“You are expected to give those papers to me.”
“I can’t.”
Rizzio’s fine face had gone a shade paler under the glossy black of his hair and his eyes gleamed dangerously under his shaggy brows. He measured the Honorable Cyril’s six feet two against his own and then turned away.
“I think I understand,” he said slowly. “Your action leaves me no other alternative.”
Hammersley, his hands still deep in his pockets, seemed to be thinking deeply.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Each man according to his lights. You have your orders. I have mine. They seem to conflict. I’m going to carry mine out. If that interferes with carrying out yours, I’m not to blame. It’s what happens in the end that matters,” he finished significantly.
Rizzio thought deeply for a moment.