“Do you dare...” began Mortimer, shouting.
“... At present,” the other continued, as though Mortimer had not spoken. “I don’t feel at all sure that they are.”
The atmosphere was getting a trifle heated, thought Desmond. If he judged Mortimer aright, he was not the man to let himself be dictated to by anybody. He was wondering how the scene would end when suddenly something caught his eye that took his mind right away from the events going forward in the room.
Opposite him, across the library, was a French window across which the curtains had been drawn. One of the curtains, however, had got looped up on a chair so that there was a gap at the bottom of the window showing the pane.
In this gap was a face pressed up against the glass. To his astonishment Desmond recognized the weather-beaten features of the odd man, Mr. John Hill. The face remained there only for a brief instant. The next moment it was gone and Desmond’s attention was once more claimed by the progress of the conference.
“Do I understand that you refuse to serve under me any longer?” Mortimer was saying to Behrend, who had risen from the settee and stood facing him.
“As long as you continue to behave as you are doing at present,” replied the other, “you may understand that!”
Mortimer made a quick dive for his pocket. In an instant Max had jumped at him and caught his arm.
“Don’t be a fool!” he cried, “for Gawd’s sake, put it away, carn’t yer? D ’you want the ’ole ruddy plice abart our ears?”
“I’ll have no disobedience of orders,” roared Mortimer, struggling with the other. In his fist he had a big automatic pistol. It was a prodigious weapon, the largest pistol that Desmond had ever seen.