"The dust of England is still in my throat.
Absinthe, a bath and dinner! _Au revoir, mon ami!_ Confess that I have
kept the promise which Louis made you. It is what you call a _coup_
this, eh?"
Out on the boulevards the papers were selling like wildfire. The Vicomte
bought one, and sitting down outside a cafe ordered absinthe. The great
headlines attracted him at once. He sipped his absinthe and smiled to
himself.
"The play commences!" he murmured. "I must return to Monsieur Spencer."
Spencer was still working like a madman.
"I must interrupt you for a moment," De Bergillac said. "I have brought
you an evening paper. The Baltic Fleet has sunk half a dozen English
fishing-boats and the whole country is in a frenzy. It is the
beginning."
Spencer nodded.
"Leave the paper, there's a good fellow," he said. "I will look it
through presently. If there is time--if there is only time this will be
the greatest night of my life. No other paper has a hint, you say?"
"Not one!"
"If I could put back the clock a single hour," Spencer muttered. "Never
mind! Williams, more sheets!"
De Bergillac took his leave. He had telephoned for his motor, which was
waiting outside.
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