"Look here: What the devil----!"

"Well, if you must know," the Englishman interrupted hastily, "my
instructions were to give you your walking papers if you refused to
resign. So your connection with the S. S. is from this hour severed.
And if you ain't out of England within twenty-four hours, we'll jolly
well deport you. And that's that."

"One perceives one has served England not wisely but too well."

"Shrewd lad!" Wertheimer laughed. "You see, old soul, we admire you no
end, and we're determined to save your life. Word has leaked through
from Petrograd that your name has been triple-starred on the Smolny's
Index Expurgatorius. Karslake's too. An honour legitimately earned by
your pernicious collaboration in the Vassilyevski bust. Karslake's
already taken care of, but you're still in the limelight, and that
makes you a public nuisance. If you linger here much longer the verdict
will undoubtedly be: Violent death at the hands of some person or
persons unknown. So here are passports and a goodish bit of money. If
you run through all of it before this blows over, we'll find a way, of
course, to get more to you. You understand: No price too high that buys
good riddance of you. And there will be a destroyer waiting at
Portsmouth to-night with instructions to put ashore secretly anywhere
you like across the Channel. After that--as far as the British Empire
is concerned--your blood be on your own head."

The other nodded, investigating the envelope which his late chief had
handed him, then from his letter of credit and passports looked up with
a reminiscent smile.