Cumshaw seized the paper and read it through quickly. "By the Lord Harry, you're right, Carstairs! That's one piece of information he didn't have. If he had known that when he went after the gold himself he'd have got it."
"Maybe he would," I said doubtfully.
"You don't seem too sure of it, Carstairs," Cumshaw remarked, with a sidelong glance at Moira.
"No more I am," I told him. "I don't like our chances either."
"But," he protested with a puzzled indrawing of his eyebrows, "as far as we're concerned it's as easy as falling off a log."
"Just as easy," I agreed, "providing our friends the enemy don't interfere. They don't seem to be the kind of men who rest on their oars, that is if we can judge anything from their past exploits."
"You're right there, Carstairs," Cumshaw said. "I never gave them a thought, but I see now that they're likely to prove a pretty active menace to our safety."
"That," I said, turning to Moira, "cuts out all possibility of your coming with us. You can't be running into danger."
"Can't I just," she said with an assertive toss of her head, "and, whether I can or not, I'm going," she finished.
I looked at Cumshaw. I could not tell from his expression whether he was pleased or sorry. His face was as devoid of emotion as that of a china doll.