“Phew!” Simon let out a short whistle as he drew his hand across his forehead. “I don’t like that man.”
De Richleau placed a steadying hand on his shoulder in the dark. “Neither do I, my friend, but you were magnificent, so calm — you showed a splendid courage.”
“Well, I’ll tell you,” Simon confessed, “I didn’t feel it. Do you think he’ll have us shot?” They both spoke in whispers.
“Not for the present — he half believes my little story about Stalin; none of these people trust each other. It is quite likely that we might be Stalin’s secret agents; he will do nothing till he has communicated with Moscow.”
“Um. I thought it was wonderful, the way you put that over. Of course he’ll send a wireless from the airpark. When the reply comes we shall be in a real muddle!” As Simon used his favourite expression for any sort of trouble, instinctively he laughed his nervous little laugh.
“That’s better,” said the Duke. ‘To hear you laugh so is good. Much may happen before they receive that reply. I’m angry with myself though, that I should have brought you into such danger. I wish now that I had never shown you the letter from Rex.”
Simon laughed again. “I’d never have forgiven you if you hadn’t — but, talking of Rex, I suppose there’s just a chance that he may get us out of this?”
In the dark De Richleau shook his head. “I fear he cannot help us — there must be at least a dozen secret police with Leshkin. Rex does not even know of our plight. I only trust he does not come to look for us and blunder into their clutches.”
Simon produced his torch, covering the bulb with his fingers, so that the light should not shine under the door. He pressed the button. “Might as well see where we are,” he suggested. “Try and help ourselves if there’s no one else to help us!”
The faint glow, coming pink through his fingers, was insufficient to light the room; only the Duke’s face showed faintly, heavy with shadows. Simon turned his back to the door and took his fingers off the bulb.