The Colossus frowned. He produced from his waistcoat pocket a toothpick and began to chew it viciously. “We probably know quite as much as they do, or very likely more. But Verity can be trusted, I hope, not to give them cold feet.”
“From what he says—he went down to Whitehall before breakfast—they’ve got cold feet already.”
“Oh, they have!” Saul Hartz grew reflective. “Then, in this case, they seem rather more up to time than usual. The fact is, Gage, it’s no use disguising that this affair wears a particularly ugly look.”
“That, undoubtedly, is Scotland Yard’s opinion.”
“What do they surmise to be the cause of death?”
“Verity can’t get a word out of them.”
Saul Hartz threw up his head sharply. “Very well, see that they don’t get a word out of us. That’s a game for two and we’re in a position to play it as well as most people.”
“Judging by the temperature in Whitehall at eight o’clock this morning, Verity is inclined to think they can tell us more than we can tell them. At any rate, we are warned to go slow.”
“Warned to go slow! What do you mean, Gage?”
“We are to be specially careful how we treat the news so that it may not conflict with the public interest.”