“Shut up,” said Richard, in a savage whisper. “She speaks English.”
“Sorry, Dicky,” the tall man apologized. “Hope she didn’t hear; introduce me to the lady, and I’ll see if I can’t work the oracle with Rupert of Hentzau, there.” Bruce nodded towards a slim-waited officer who stood some distance away.
The introduction was made, Bruce took Richard’s passport and held a short conversation with the so-called Rupert of Hentzau, there was much laughter between them, and the little officer gave an extra twist to his moustache as he looked at Marie Lou, then Bruce rejoined them.
“All serene,” he announced. “He says you’re a lucky fellow, Dickybird.”
“I — why?” Richard yawned, wearily.
“Well, I had to make up a bit of a story, so I said Madame was your wife. In fact, I implied in a sort of way, that you were on your honeymoon — doing the round trip — Berlin, Warsaw, Vienna. Little chappie got quite excited about it. I thought it best not to mention Russia.”
“Idiot,” said Richard. He looked quickly away from Marie Lou and felt himself grow quite hot in the darkness.
“’Fraid I can’t offer to put you up,” Bruce went on as they climbed into a taxi. “I occupy a palatial suite of two whole rooms and sleep in the bath most of the time myself.”
“That’s all right, tell him to go to the Kurplatz,” said Richard, sleepily. “Anywhere for a bed.”
“Righto, my Croesus — it’s a guinea a minute, but as you’re on your honeymoon, I suppose it’s excusable.”