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Updated: June 25, 2025
Fairly lifted from his feet, he was held as helpless as an infant kicking in the arms of its nurse. Released, the other spy stepped back and swung his left fist viciously to Lanyard's jaw. Something in the brain of the adventurer seemed to let go; his head dropped weakly to one side.
Now the neophyte needs the introduction of a trusted sponsor before he can win admission to the club-house of the exclusive Circle of Friends of Humanity; but Lanyard's knock secured him prompt and unquestioned right of way.
Someone came through the portieres and paused, pulling them together behind him. The beam of an electric flash-lamp lanced the gloom and its spotlight danced erratically round the walls. Now there was no more thought of flight in Lanyard's humour, but rather a firm determination to stand his ground.
With all its reputation for efficiency and astuteness the British Secret Service entrusted its mysteries to an antiquated contraption such as this! Humming a blithe little air, Blensop moved into Lanyard's field of vision and stopped between him and the safe, deftly pigeonholing therein the docketed papers and Mrs. Arden's jewels.
The floor resounded like a great drum to the stamping of her bare feet, till one marvelled at such solidity of flesh as could endure that punishment. Sophie Weringrode lounged negligently upon the table, bringing her head near Lanyard's shoulder. "Play fair," she said between lips that barely moved.
If the cab was moving before Lanyard could hop in and shut the door, the other had already established a killing lead; and though Lanyard's man demonstrated characteristic contempt for municipal regulations governing the speed of motor-driven vehicles, and racketed his own madly down the Avenue, he was wholly helpless to do more than keep the tail-lamp of the first in sight.
To that lithe and debonair figure Lanyard's gaze oftenest reverted. So not only had the necklace been stolen but "a document" which the British Secret Service "could ill afford to part with"! Lanyard entertained no least doubt as to the identity of the document in question. There could be but one, he felt, which Stanistreet would so characterize.
The lamplight, striking across his face beneath the greenish penumbra of the shade, discovered a countenance of Hebraic cast. "Monsieur has something to show me, eh?" "But naturally." Lanyard's reply just escaped a suspicion of curtness: as who should say, what did you expect? He was puzzled by something strange and new in the attitude of this young man, a trace of reserve and constraint....
In any event, the risk had to be chanced: Liane Delorme was in a plight demanding immediate relief. In all likelihood she had lost consciousness some moments before Lanyard's intervention. Released, she had fallen positively inert, and lay semi-prostrate on a shoulder, with limbs grotesquely slack and awry, as if in unpleasant mimicry of a broken doll.
Ah!" he clamoured vivaciously. "It is Monsieur Lanyard, who knows all about paintings! But this is delightful, my friend one grand pleasure! You must know my friends.... But come!" And seizing Lanyard's hands, when that one somewhat reluctantly rose in response to this surprisingly over-exuberant greeting, he dragged him willy-nilly from behind his table. "And you are American, too.
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