“They won’t touch you,” Denby said comfortingly; “they want me.”
“I don’t know,” Monty said doubtfully. “They’ll shoot first, and then ask which is you.”
Denby was unperturbed. “I think we’ve both been too fidgety,” he quoted.
“But why don’t they come in?” Monty asked apprehensively.
“They’re staying out there to keep us prisoners,” he was told.
“Then I hope they’ll stop there,” Monty exclaimed fervently.
“I can’t help thinking,” Denby said, knitting his brows, “that they’ve got someone in here on the inside, working under cover to try to get the necklace. What do you know about the butler, Lambart? Is he a new man?”
“Lord, no,” Monty assured him. “He has been with Michael five years, and worships him. You’d distress Lambart immeasurably if you even hinted he’d ever handed a plate to a smuggler.”
“We’ve got to find out who it is,” Denby said decidedly, “and then, Monty, we’ll have some sport.”
“Then we’ll have some shooting,” Monty returned in disgust. “Where is that confounded necklace anyway? Is Michael carrying it around without knowing it?”