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A dull streak of color had mounted almost to his forehead, his eyes were on fire. "Bellamy!" he cried. "Bellamy!" Words failed him suddenly. He leaned against the table, breathless, panting heavily. "For God's sake, man," Bellamy began, "Alone!" Dorward interrupted. "I must see you alone! I have news!" Mademoiselle Idiale rose. She touched Bellamy on the shoulder.
Mark was shrewd enough to notice that however much he grumbled about his friend's visit Mr. Ogilvie was sufficiently influenced by that visit to put into practice much of the advice to which he had taken exception. The influence of Dorward upon Mark did not stop with his begetting in him an appreciation of the value of form in worship. When Mark told Mr.
"Dorward," he said, speaking rapidly, and keeping his back to the door, "you don't realize what you're up against. This sort of thing is new to you. You haven't a dog's chance of leaving Vienna alive with that in your pocket. If you trust yourself in the Orient Express to-night, you'll never be allowed to cross the frontier.
When you left the Palace with that paper in your pocket, you were, to all intents and purposes, a doomed man. Your passport and your American citizenship count for absolutely nothing. I have come in to warn you that if you have any last messages to leave, you had better give them to me now." "This is a pretty good bluff you're putting up!" Dorward exclaimed contemptuously.
"Before then," Bellamy declared, "Von Behrling must not know whether he is in heaven or upon earth. It will not be opened in London. He can make up another packet to resemble precisely the one of which he robbed Dorward. Oh! it is a difficult game, I know, but it is worth playing. Remember, Louise, that we are not petty conspirators. It is your country's very existence that is threatened.
The two men turned from their window back into the room. Dorward commenced to roll a cigarette with yellow-stained, nervous fingers, while Bellamy threw himself into an easy-chair with a gesture of depression. "So it is over, this long-talked-of meeting," he said, half to himself, half to Dorward. "It is over, and Europe is left to wonder."
Now to Mark Oxford was a legendary place to which before he met Mr. Dorward he would never have aspired. Oxford at Haverton House was merely an abstraction to which a certain number of people offered an illogical allegiance in order to create an excuse for argument and strife.
Cyril smiled weakly and explained to Mark that when once his father had made up his mind to do something it was impossible to stop him. Thereupon Mark explained his scheme. "I'll get an answer from Dorward to-night and you must escape to-morrow afternoon as soon as it's dark. Have you got a rope ladder?" Cyril smiled more feebly than ever. "No, I suppose you haven't.
Von Behrling has the packet. The others form a sort of cordon around him." "But why," she asked, "does he go on to London? Why not return to Vienna?" "For one thing," Bellamy replied, with a grim smile, "they are afraid of me. Then you must remember that this affair of Dorward will be talked about. They do not want to seem in any way implicated.
"I can't go back to Wych and live there in pleasant idleness until it's time to go to Glastonbury. I must have some scheme for the immediate future." In bed when the light was out and darkness made the most fantastic project appear practical, Mark had an inspiration to take the habit of a preaching friar. Why should he not persuade Dorward to join him?
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