Carneta entered the room.
The light played in that wonderful hair of hers; and pale though she was, I thought I had never seen a more beautiful woman.
“Tell them,” she said quietly, “what must be done.”
Soar glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes and shifted uneasily. Hilton stared as if fascinated.
“Now,” rapped Dexter, in his strident voice, “putting aside all questions of justice and right (we’re not policemen), what do we want—you and I, Mr. Cavanagh?”
“I can’t think clearly about anything,” I said dully. “Explain yourself.”
“Very well. Inspector Bristol, C.I.D., would want me and Hassan arrested. I don’t want that! What I want is peace; I want to be able to sleep in comfort; I want to know I’m not likely to be murdered on the next corner! Same with you?”
“Yes—yes.”
“How can we manage it? One way would be to kill Hassan of Aleppo; but he wants a lot of killing—I’ve tried! Moreover, directly we’d done it, another Sheikh-al-jebal would be nominated and he’d carry on the bloody work. We’d be worse off than ever. Right! we’ve got to connive at letting the blood-stained fanatic escape, and we’ve got to give up the slipper!”
“I’ll do that with all my heart!”