Diplomacy or no diplomacy, we're playing Markeld
a dirty trick--that's the only expression that describes it. He's a nice
fellow and we ought to treat him fairly."
Collins shrugged his shoulders as he turned away to the window and
lighted a cigarette.
"You said something of the same sort yesterday, I believe," he remarked,
negligently.
"Yes--and I meant it then" as I mean it now. Markeld has the right to
expect decent treatment at our hands."
"Rather late in the day to take that ground," retorted Collins.
"Late or not, I do take it," answered Vernon, pausing an instant in his
walk to emphasise the words.
"I see," said Collins, drily, "it's a sort of moral awakening--a
quickening of conscience--the kind of thing we are all so proud of
displaying. Pity it didn't come before we started for this place."
Vernon did not reply, only clasped and unclasped his hands nervously.
Collins wheeled around upon him abruptly, his face very stern.
"Come," he demanded, "let's have it out, once for all. I'm sick of this
shilly-shally. Why can't you let Markeld take care of himself?"
"Because you're not playing fairly."
"What do you mean by fairly?"
"I mean openly, honestly--as gentlemen should."
"You forget that this is diplomacy--and that we don't live in the Golden
Age.
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