I got the bag out from under the seat, found the ring and file and slipped the former on my finger and the little box containing the latter into a handy pocket. But after the bag was packed and stowed away again and all neat and tidy, I lit a match and held my deadly ring so that the snake’s head was in the flame for three or four seconds.
It was some time before Pride appeared. And when he did come out, it was with a very long face. He came up and opened the door of the car, as though asking for orders.
“Hell,” he said softly; “it took me nearly twenty minutes to locate Peters, and he cannot get more than one motor-bike cop up here in the time. He’s going to try to get a police car stationed near the house to pick you up also, but he seemed doubtful. We’d better get back anyhow. I’ll probably be able to follow you myself.”
“All right,” I answered; “but the Russian is wise to us, I think. He knows, or else there’s an awful lot of coincidence in most of his remarks. Never mind. We’ve got to find the place, and this is a chance.”
Pride jumped into the driving seat, and a few moments later we were back in front of the Russian’s house. As he opened the car door for me he asked: “You haven’t got a gun on you, have you?”
I told him I hadn’t.
“That’s right. It will only be taken away from you and it would simply confirm their suspicions. Now good luck, old man. The die is cast.”
A horn tooted softly just behind us and we turned. A big limousine was waiting to get in front of the door. The man driving it was Niko, Ivanovitch’s servant. Pride jumped into the driving seat of our car and pulled away at once, saluting without another word. I turned and went up to the door.
Ivanovitch himself let me in. “Ah, you’re back again in time. I’m glad; for I should have had to go without you. However, I’ve telephoned about you, and they are expecting you. Now let us go, shall we?”
“Expecting me, are they?” I thought. “That makes it nice.”