'Have they gone?' I asked.
'They have gone. I convinced them that you had crossed the hill.
I do not choose that the police should come between me and one
whom I am delighted to honour. This is a lucky morning for you,
Mr Richard Hannay.'
As he spoke his eyelids seemed to tremble and to fall a little over
his keen grey eyes. In a flash the phrase of Scudder's came back to
me, when he had described the man he most dreaded in the world.
He had said that he 'could hood his eyes like a hawk'. Then I saw
that I had walked straight into the enemy's headquarters.
My first impulse was to throttle the old ruffian and make for the
open air. He seemed to anticipate my intention, for he smiled
gently, and nodded to the door behind me.
I turned, and saw two men-servants who had me covered with pistols.
He knew my name, but he had never seen me before. And as the
reflection darted across my mind I saw a slender chance.
'I don't know what you mean,' I said roughly. 'And who are you
calling Richard Hannay? My name's Ainslie.'
'So?' he said, still smiling. 'But of course you have others. We
won't quarrel about a name.'
I was pulling myself together now, and I reflected that my garb,
lacking coat and waistcoat and collar, would at any rate not betray
me. I put on my surliest face and shrugged my shoulders.
'I suppose you're going to give me up after all, and I call it a
damned dirty trick.
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