The Bomb-Makers — William Le Queux

“Do get rid of the girl! Can't you see that she's highly dangerous!” whispered the tall, rather overdressed man as he glanced furtively across the small square shop set with little tables, dingy in the haze of tobacco-smoke. It was an obscure, old-fashioned little restaurant in one of London's numerous byways -- a resort of Germans, naturalised and otherwise, “the enemy in our midst,” as the papers called them. “I will. I quite agree. My girl may know just a little too much -- if we are not very careful.” “Ah! she knows far too much already, Drost, thanks to your ridiculous indiscretions,” growled the dark-eyed man beneath his breath. “They will land you before a military court-martial -- if you are not careful!” “Well, I hardly think so. I'm always most careful -- most silent and discreet,” and he grinned evilly.