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Updated: May 27, 2025
The hours crawled away. Once De Grost sat up and listened. "Any rats about?" he inquired. The ambassador was indignant. "I have never heard one in my life," he answered. "This is quite a modern house." De Grost dropped his match-box and stooped to pick it up. "Any lights on anywhere, except in this room?" he asked. "Certainly not," Monsieur de Lamborne answered.
He was like a man who looks upon a nightmare. His eyes protruded. The words which he tried to utter, failed him. Then, with a swift, nervous presentiment, he turned quickly around towards the man who had been standing in the shadows. Here, too, the unexpected had happened. It was Peter, Baron de Grost, who threw his muffler and broad-brimmed hat upon the table.
At one o'clock precisely Monsieur de Lamborne returned to his house and heard with well-simulated interest that Monsieur le Baron de Grost awaited his arrival in the library. He found De Grost gazing with obvious respect at the ponderous safe let into the wall. "A very fine affair this," he remarked, motioning with his head toward it. "The best of its kind," Monsieur de Lamborne admitted.
"They are very often late there, sir," he said. "It is a Continental wine business, and there's always one or two of them over time." "It's bad business, all the same," de Grost declared pleasantly. "Good-night, policeman!" "Good-night, sir!"
At the time when you were the idol of all Russia and the leader of the great revolutionary party, you received funds from abroad." "I accounted for them," Hagon muttered. "Up to a certain point I accounted for everything." "You received funds from the Government of a European power," De Grost continued, "funds to be applied towards developing the revolution.
"Do you mind coming round to my house and talking to me, for a few minutes?" he asked. The young man hesitated. "I'll come round later on," he suggested. "I have a call to make first." De Grost held open the door of the taxicab. "I want a talk with you," he said, "before you make that call." "You speak as though you knew where I was going," the Prince remarked.
Only Andrea Korust, from his place at the head of the table, glanced occasionally towards his popular guest with a curious, half-hidden expression of distaste and suspicion. The more the Baron de Grost shone, the more uneasy he became. The signal to rise from the meal was given almost abruptly. Mademoiselle Korust hung on to Peter's arm.
Violet smiled and fingered her pearls for a minute. "What the real philosophy of married life may be I do not know," she said, "but I am perfectly content with our rendering of it. What a fortunate thing, Peter, with your intensely practical turn of mind, that nature endowed you with so much sentiment." De Grost gazed reflectively at the cigarette which he had just selected from his case.
On the night after the visit of Peter, Baron de Grost, His Grace the Duke of Rosshire was present, the man in whose hands lay the destinies of the British Navy; and, curiously enough, on the same night, a great French writer on naval subjects was present, whom the Duke had never met, and with whom he was delighted to talk for some time apart.
His host, very fussy as he always was on the morning of his big shoot, came bustling towards Peter, Baron de Grost, with a piece of paper in his hand.
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