f I'd had a heavier stick, but I
didn't want to make a rumpus. You see, I did well in putting the thing
on paper."

"Are you hurt?"

"Merely a bruised arm. Little chap with a stick--behind me."

"Most extraordinary! I can hardly believe that the government would
dare----"

"It isn't the government, sir, I'm afraid," he said, with conviction, as
he took his whiskey and soda. "There are others who have more to lose
than the Emperor's party by this revelation----"

"Yes, that may be so," replied the Ambassador judicially, pacing the
floor. "Perhaps you're right, Renwick. But now that you're safe, we
should only concern ourselves with the greater issue. Tell me again in
your own words all that has happened since yesterday morning."

Renwick obeyed, and it was far into the night before he finished, while
the faces of his auditors grew grave again. The security of this well
ordered office, with the familiar tokens of distant peaceful England all
about them, made a prosaic background for the visions which were
flashing through the minds of these three Englishmen. Even now, to
Renwick, as he related his experience again, the whole thing seemed
incredible, and the reiterated questions of his Chief, who was a prudent
man, might have shaken a less convincing witness. But Renwick had
dreamed no dream, and the returning ache in his arm left no room to
doubt the actuality of his experience.

"You have done England a service, Renwick," said the Ambassador at last,
magnanimously. "It isn't often that such crumbs of information are
offered us--in such a way. But we will take them--and digest them
overnight. I want to sleep on this matter. And you--you will stay here
tonight, Renwick. It will be safer. Until tomorrow, gentlemen----"

And so he dismissed them.

CHAPTER IV

SECRET INFORMATION

An ambassador has been wittily described as an honest man sent to "lie"
abroad for the commonwealth. He is supposed to be familiar with all the
scandal and intrigue of the court to which he is accredited, to be
possessed of countless incriminating secrets, and to steer his way amid
the maze, disturbing no ghost or skeleton of family or government,
preserving the while a calm punctilio and an exterior of fathomless
simplicity. The ambassador of modern Europe is at once a Chesterfield, a
Machiavelli, and a Vidocq. He must be a lamb, a lion, and a ferret. He
must fly upon the wing of occasion, he must condescend to act as
messenge