“Blast the Dashnakists!” said Tarlyon. “Yes or no?”
“I promise,” said the Armenian suddenly.
My native common sense now got the better of me.
“You seem to take it for granted that we just walk into the house. How do we get in?”
“This cuts windows like a knife,” said the Armenian, showing us in the palm of his hands a glittering little thing like a toy dagger. “An Argentine invention.”
“The matter will be further facilitated,” said Tarlyon, “by our first getting my car, which is opposite Claridge’s, and driving in it to the front door. My reason for this step is that no policeman would dare suspect anything wrong in a house while a Rolls-Royce is standing outside it. Especially, Ralph, when your manly appearance is decorating the driving-seat....”
“I shall be in the house,” I said firmly. Not that I wanted to be—but one always says those things, and one always says them firmly.
“Perhaps that would be better,” said the Armenian. “It will certainly take the two of you to keep His Excellency quiet while I break in the first locked door I see and get Anaïs. And a Rolls-Royce car is, I understand, even more impressive empty than when some one is in it—people make it seem possible.”
III
We got the car and drove bravely to the house. We passed two policemen at the corner of Davies Street, but they were not interested in us. I must say burglary is easy when one has a large and rich car to do it from....