“I say what a rotten dummy: is that the best you can do, partner?”
“Well, you wanted me to put you up. If you can make the syces water the bit before bridling it’s all right.”
Prudence played the gramophone to William, who lay on his back in front of the hearth smoking one of the very few remaining cigars. “Oh, dear,” he said, “when will the new records come?”
“I say, Prudence, do come and look at the jumper. I’m starting on the sleeves.”
“Envoy, you are clever.”
“Well, it’s very exciting….”
“Pretty tune that. I say, is it my turn?”
“Percy, do attend to the game.”
“Sorry, anyway I’ve taken the trick.”
“It was ours already.”
“No, I say was it? Put on the other side, Prudence—the one about Sex Appeal Sarah.”
“Percy, it’s you to play again. Now trump it this time.’
“Sorry, no trumps left. Good that about ‘start off with cocktails and end up with Eno’s”
A few miles away at the French Legation, the minister and the first secretary were discussing the report of the British movements which was brought to them every evening by Sir Samson’s butler.
“Bishop Goodchild is there again.”
“Clericalism.”
“That is how they keep in touch with the town. He is an old fox, Sir Courteney.”
“It is quite true that they have made no attempt to fortify the Legation. I have confirmed it.”
“No doubt they have made their preparations in another quarter. Sir Courteney had been financing Seth,”
“Without doubt.”
“I think he is behind the fluctuations of the currency.”
“They are using a new code. Here is a copy of to-day’s telegram. It means nothing to me. Yesterday there was one the same.”
“Kt to QR3 CH. No, that is not one of the ordinary codes. You must work on that all night. Pierre will help.”
“I should not be surprised if Sir Samson were in the pay of the Italians.”
“It is more than likely. The guard has been set?”
“They have orders to shoot at sight.”
“Have the alarms been tested?”
“All are in order.”
“Excellent. Then I will wish you good-night.”
M. Ballon ascended the stairs to bed. In his room he first tested the steel shutters, then the lock of the door. Then he went across to the bed where his wife-was already asleep, and examined the mosquito curtains. He squirted a little Flit round the windows and door, sprayed his throat with antiseptic and rapidly divested himself of all except his woollen cummerbund. He slipped on his pyjamas, examined the magazine of his revolver and laid it on the chair at his bedside; next to it he placed his watch, electric torch and a bottle of Vittel. He slipped another revolver under his pillow. He tiptoed to the window and called down softly: “Sergeant.”
There was a click of heels in the darkness. “Excellence.”
“Is all well?”
“All well, Excellence.”
M. Ballon moved softly across to the electric switches and before extinguishing the main lamp switched on a small electric night-light which shed a faint blue radiance throughout the room. Then he cautiously lifted the mosquito curtain; flashed his torch round to make sure that there were no insects there and finally with a little grunt lay down to sleep. Before losing consciousness his hand felt, found and grasped a small carved nut which he kept under his bolster in the belief that it would bring him good luck.
Next morning by eleven o’clock the Bishop had been seen off the premises and the British Legation had settled down to its normal routine. Lady Courteney was in the potting shed; Sir Samson was in the bath; William, Legge and Anstruther were throwing poker dice in the chancery; Prudence was at work on the third chapter of the Panorama of Life. Sex, she wrote in round, irregular characters, is the crying out of the Soul for Completion. Presently she crossed out ‘Soul’ and substituted ‘Spirit’; then she inserted ‘of man’; changed it to ‘manhood’ and substituted ‘humanity.’ Then she took a new sheet of paper and copied out the whole sentence. Then she wrote a letter. Sweet William. You looked so lovely at breakfast you know all half awake and I wanted So to pinch you only didn’t. Why did you go away at once. Saying ‘decode.’ You know you hadn’t got to I suppose it was the Bishop. Darling, he’s gone now so come back and I will show you something lovely. The Panorama of Life, is rather a trial to-day. Very literary and abstruse but it won’t get any LONGER. Oh, dear. Prudence, xxxx. She folded this letter very carefully into a three-cornered hat, addressed it The Honble. William Trench., Attache Honoraire, pres La Legation de Grande Bretagne and sent it down to the chancery, with instructions to the boy to wait for an answer. William scribbled So sorry darling desperately busy to-day see you at luncheon. Longing to read Panorama. W. and threw four kings in two.
Prudence disconsolately abandoned her fountain pen and went out to watch her mother thinning the Michaelmas daisies.
