“Sir Stanley Digby. Mr. Terence O’Rourke. Sir Oswald and Lady Coote. Mr. Bateman. Countess Anna Radzky. Mrs. Macatta. Mr. James Thesiger—”
He paused and then asked sharply:
“Who is Mr. James Thesiger?”
The American laughed.
“I guess you needn’t worry any about him. The usual complete young ass.”
The Russian continued reading.
“Herr Eberhard and Mr. Eversleigh. That completes the list.”
“Does it?” said Bundle silently. “What about that sweet girl, Lady Eileen Brent?”
“Yes, there seems nothing to worry about there,” said Mosgorovsky. He looked across the table. “I suppose there’s no doubt whatever about the value of Eberhard’s invention?”
Three o’clock made a laconic British reply.
“None whatever.”
“Commercially it should be worth millions,” said the Russian. “And internationally—well, one knows only too well the greed of nations.”
Bundle had an idea that behind his mask he was smiling unpleasantly.
“Yes,” he went on. “A gold mine.”
“Well worth a few lives,” said No. 5 cynically, and laughed.