An orderly entered the hall from a side door and tramped past them. He was a stocky young man with an unintelligent face. He glanced at the little man and winked at Shayne, then passed on.
Shayne’s companion seemed not to see the orderly. “Yes, indeed,” he insisted. “Our lives would not be worth a farthing if we were seen together.”
“Let’s just pretend we’re invisible,” Shayne suggested.
“It would do no good. They’re devils here. The Gestapo, you know.”
“Yes?” Shayne queried politely.
“I must confide in you. As a fellow member of the profession I have no course but to trust you. They murdered the Duchess last night.”
“So?” Shayne turned sharp gray eyes upon the little man. “You must be mistaken.”
“Am I not Sherlock Holmes? Have you ever known him to be mistaken?”
“Well, no.”
“Stop interrupting then, my good fellow. What I have to say is important. There’s a plot to overthrow the government of the Isles—”