“Much more likely to land your silly self in jug.”
“Not a bit of it,” Richard protested. “They’ve got nothing against me — probably don’t even know of my existence, certainly not of my connection with the others. My passport’s in order. I shall go with all the power and prestige of old England at my back. If you can’t do anything but exchange polite notes with these rotten swine, I’m hanged if I’m going to sit twiddling my thumbs!”
“All right, my adventurous birdie, don’t get wild about it — but as a matter of fact your passport is out of order. You’ll need a new visa to enter the Soviet again.”
“How long will that take?”
“A fortnight, in the ordinary way, but if I go in and see the Soviet people myself I can get it for you in three or four days.”
“Right you are, Gerry. Be a good chap and see about it this afternoon, will you?” Richard pushed his passport across the table. “And you might get your people at the Embassy to shoot off a letter tonight. With any luck they’ll get a reply before we get the visa.”
“Thy will be done, O giver of good meals!” Bruce pocketed the passport.
“If you go back to Russia, I will go, too,” said Marie Lou, gently.
Richard laughed. “My dear girl, you can’t. I don’t quite know what to do with you as it is. I had thought of entrusting you to Gerry, but he’s not a fit companion for a nice girl like you!”
“Take me with you,” she begged, seriously.