“Professional discretion, my dear fellow, professional discretion!” he retorted. “You know what it is!”
Then lowering his voice, he added:
“Between ourselves the less said about my connection with Master Willie the better. Our colleagues are already restless at what they consider my neglect of my professional work. They attribute it to the wiles of Nur-el-Din. They may if they like and I don’t propose to disillusion them. You understand, Bellward?”
His voice was commanding and he bent his brows at Desmond, who hastened to protest that his discretion in the matter would be absolute.
When they had had their coffee and Mortimer was contentedly puffing one of Bellward’s excellent double Coronas, Desmond rose from the table.
“If you will excuse me a minute,” he said, “I will just go across to the library and see if my housekeeper has put all in order for our guests!”
Instantly Mortimer got up from the table.
“By all means,” he said, and emptied his glass of brandy, “so, I will come with you!”
Mortimer meant to stick to him, thought Desmond; that was evident. Then an idea struck him. Why should he not telephone in Mortimer’s presence? To ask for Mr. Elias was in no way incriminating and if help came promptly, Mortimer could be secured and the other spies pounced upon in their turn as they arrived.
Therefore, as soon as they reached the library, Desmond walked over to the desk and picked up the telephone receiver from its hook.