THE YELLOW DOVE
“Bally nuisance to have to drive you like this. Wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t most important”
“Yes”
“They want something I’ve got”
“Papers?”
“You’ll laugh when I tell you. Most amusin’—cigarette papers!”
“Cigarette”
“That’s all. I give you my word. Here they are.” And reaching down into his trousers pocket he produced a little yellow packet. “Cigarette papers, that’s all. These chaps must be perishin’ for a smoke. What?” he laughed.
“But I don’t understand.”
“It isn’t necessary that you should. Take my word for it, won’t you? It’s what they want. And I’m jolly determined they’re not goin’ to get it.”
“You want me to help you? How?”
He looked back again and the lights behind them found a reflection in his eyes. If, earlier in the evening she had hoped to see him fully awake, she had her wish now. He was quite cool and ready to take an amused view of things, but in his coolness she felt a new power, an inventiveness, a readiness to resort to extremes to baffle his pursuers. Her apprehension had grown with the moments. Who were these men in the touring-car? Special agents of Scotland Yard? She had never been so doubtful nor so proud of him. Weighed in the balance of emotion the woman in her decided it. She caught at his hand impulsively.
“Yes, I’ll help—if I can—whatever comes.”
He raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them gently.
“Thank God,” he muttered. “I knew you would.”
42
