"I know it is! So'm I! Nothing doing!"
"You're on the inside of an official secret."
"Curse all official secrets! My business is oil!"
"There'll be no oil in this man's land for any one for fifty years if you won't play. There'll be a jihad instead. They're planning to blow up the Dome of the Rock."
"Jee-rusalem!"
"Straight goods, Davey. Two tons of TNT stolen, and our friend Scharnhoff, the Austrian, hunting for the Tomb of the Kings— digging for it day and night—conspirators waiting to run in the explosive as soon as the tunnel is complete."
"Why not arrest 'em at once?"
"We want to catch the principals red-handed, explosive and all. We don't know where the explosive is yet. Bag the lot, and kill the story. Otherwise, d'you see what it means, if the news leaks out? They'll blame the attempt on the Jews. And the minute the British protect the Jews there'll be all Moslem Asia on fire. Get me?"
"Get you? Yes, I get you. I'll get hell from the home office, though, for meddling in politics."
Goodenough came in then, rather a different man from the stern little martinet who had stood in the throat of the arcade. He was all smiles.