Then his gaze fell to my belt and his eyes became saucers. "Oh, dear! And armed!"
My chargé d'affaires was shuddering and he could not look directly at me.
"Mr. Ambassador, I understand that you were recently appointed from the Consular Service. I sincerely hope that you will not take it amiss if I point out, here in private, that—"
"Mr. Thrombley, I am wearing this costume and these pistols on the direct order of Secretary of State Ghopal Singh."
That set him back on his heels.
"I ... I can't believe it!" he exclaimed. "An ambassador is never armed."
"Not when he's dealing with a government which respects the comity of nations and the usages of diplomatic practice, no," I replied. "But the fate of Mr. Cumshaw clearly indicates that the government of New Texas is not such a government. These pistols are in the nature of a not-too-subtle hint of the manner in which this government, here, is being regarded by the government of the Solar League." I turned to Stonehenge. "Commander, what sort of an Embassy guard have we?" I asked.
"Space Marines, sergeant and five men. I double as guard officer, sir."
"Very well. Mr. Thrombley insists that it is necessary for me to go to this fish-fry or whatever it is immediately. I want two men, a driver and an auto-rifleman, for my car. And from now on, I would suggest, Commander, that you wear your sidearm at all times outside the Embassy."
"Yes, sir!" and this time, Stonehenge gave me a real salute.