“And you want me to hide the treaty?”
“Certainly not. By no manner of means. I merely came to tell you that Abd-ur-Rahim insists on questioning you and Lady Haigh as to whether you know anything about it. He will come in here when he has finished ransacking our place, so put your burkas on again, please.”
“But, Mr Stratford, where is the treaty?”
“Here,” said Stratford, exhibiting the front of his coat, “in a pocket which my bearer and I contrived for it. You see, it goes between the cloth and the lining, and is sewn in. It is rolled up so tightly that it does not show at all under ordinary circumstances; but if they search me, they are bound to find it immediately.”
“And what then?”
“I can’t give it up, of course, so that if they attempt to search us, we must show fight. We must only hope they won’t, for our opposing the idea would arouse suspicion at once.”
“If they have any sense whatever, it is the first thing they will do,” said Georgia, promptly. “No, Mr Stratford, I am not going to allow you and Dick to run such a risk, and perhaps bring destruction upon us all. Give me the treaty, and I will hide it.”
“And transfer the risk to yourself? Now, Miss Keeling, do you really think me capable of doing such a thing?”
“There will be no risk whatever. I have an idea. Take off your coat, Mr Stratford—quick!” with a stamp of the foot—“there is no time to lose. Give me those scissors, Rahah, and thread a needle with grey cotton. That’s it; now sew up that slit as neatly as you can.”
“What are you going to do?” inquired Stratford, standing helplessly by in his shirt-sleeves, while Georgia was rolling the fateful parchment into the smallest possible compass, and Rahah stitched up with marvellous rapidity the yawning hole in his coat.