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Updated: June 4, 2025
I don't believe that a single one of them got any further than the kitchens." Dorward nodded gloomily. "I guess they weren't taking any chances up there," he remarked. "There wasn't a secretary in the room. Carstairs was nearly thrown out, and he had a permit to enter the Palace. The great staircase was held with soldiers, and Dick swore that there were Maxims in the corridors." Bellamy sighed.
Together they would tramp the English country, compelling even the dullest yokels to hear the word of God . . . discalced . . . over hill, down dale . . . telling stories of the saints and martyrs in remote inns . . . deep lanes . . . the butterflies and the birds . . . Dorward should say Mass in the heart of great woods . . . over hill, down dale . . . discalced . . . preaching to men of Christ. . . .
"We shall hear the roar of bigger guns before we are many months older, Dorward," he declared. The journalist glanced at his friend keenly. "You believe that?" Bellamy shrugged his shoulders. "Do you suppose that this meeting is for nothing?" he asked. "When Austria, Germany and Russia stand whispering in a corner, can't you believe it is across the North Sea that they point?
"What are you going to do?" "Louise, you and I have few secrets from each other. I would have killed Dorward to obtain that sealed envelope, because I believe that the knowledge of its contents in London to-day would save us from disaster. To know how far each is pledged, and from which direction the first blow is to come, would be our salvation."
That night in his bedroom he practised with the help of the wash-stand and its accessories the technique of serving at Low Mass, and in his enthusiasm he bicycled over to Meade Cantorum in time to attend both the Low Mass at seven said by Mr. Dorward and the Low Mass at eight said by Mr. Ogilvie.
"Then shoot and be d d to you!" Dorward declared fiercely. "This is my show, not yours. You and your country can go to " He broke off without finishing his sentence. There was a thunderous knocking at the door. The two men looked at one another for a moment, speechless. Then Bellamy, with a smothered oath, replaced the revolver in his pocket. "You've thrown away our chance," he said bitterly.
The knocking was repeated. When Bellamy with a shrug of the shoulders answered the summons, three men in plain clothes entered. They saluted Bellamy, but their eyes were traveling around the room. "We are seeking Herr Dorward, the American journalist!" one exclaimed. "He was here but a moment ago." Bellamy pointed to the inner door.
"I've always been Oxford," he admitted. When Mr. Dorward had gone, Mark asked Mr. Ogilvie what he thought about Oxford. "If you can afford to go there, my dear boy, of course you ought to go." "Well, I'm pretty sure I can't afford to. I don't think I've got any money at all. My mother left some money, but my uncle says that that will come in useful when I'm articled to this solicitor, Mr.
Ogilvie think it cheek to ring the bell without asking his permission first? But before these unanswered questions had had time to spoil the rhythm of his ringing, the Vicar came back with Mr. Dorward, and the congregation, that is to say Miss Hatchett and Miss Ogilvie, was already kneeling in its place.
Then, all of a sudden, he turned to me and seemed to remember who I was and what I wanted. 'Ah! he said, 'you are Dorward, the American journalist. I remember you now. Lock the door. I obeyed him pretty quick, for I had noticed they were mighty uneasy outside, and I was afraid they'd be disturbing us every moment. 'Come and sit down, he ordered. I did so at once.
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