Anthony was smiling.
"Hadn't you better make sure?" said he.
The envelope was ripped open and a letter withdrawn.
"What's this?"
"I don't know—something my mother wrote. Oh, I wasn't born yesterday and if you think I carry the concession—search me." And to emphasise the uselessness of such a course he pulled out the lining of his inner pocket.
Dirk and Smith closed in threateningly.
"We mean to have that paper," they said in a single voice.
"Haven't you chosen rather a public place to get it?" he answered steadily. "Oh, I realise I'm cornered, but is this the place for the kill? After all, I'm not much good to you without that paper."
"Where 'ave you put it?" hissed Dirk, edging closer. "Where 'ave you put it, eh?"
"Aha, my friend, that's the point. But it won't be cleared up by breathing hops in my face."