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Updated: May 29, 2025
It was as much as he could do, he said, to keep the First Lord from coming down and monkeying the whole affair. Luckily there was a debate in Parliament that he wanted to figure in, and so couldn't get away. Lord Jacquetot said that the First Lord had grabbed the whole scheme as his very own, and forgotten that I had any part in it. I don't mind.
The Commander drew near and whispered. "What! Authority endorsed by Jacquetot? There is something queer about this. Look here, my fine fellow, who the devil are you? Are you a Marine, or a too clever German spy, or what? Make haste. There is still enough water left over the side to pitch you into without breaking your dirty neck." Dawson knew his man.
It was a full, rich voice, and the French it spoke was not the French of Mr. Jacquetot, nor, indeed, of the Rue St. Gingolphe. It was the language one sometimes hears in an old chateau lost in the depths of the country the vast unexplored rural districts of France where the bearers of dangerously historical names live out their lives with a singular suppression and patience.
With this vague elucidation the little skipper was forced to content himself. He gave a grunt of acquiescence, and walked forward to superintend the catheading of the anchor. One would almost have said that the good citizen Jacquetot was restless and disturbed.
Jacquetot himself is always at his post, on the high chair behind the counter, near the window, where he can see into the street. This constant attention to business is almost phenomenal, because Frenchmen who worship the god of Mr. Jacquetot love to pay tribute on fete-days at one of the little restaurants on the Place at Versailles, at Duval's, or even in the Palais Royal. Mr.
"The secret will get out, our plans will fail, and MY Administration, my beautiful Administration, will have to stand the racket. How shall I defend myself in the House?" "That won't matter much to the country," put in Jacquetot bluntly. "What matters, is that we should do everything possible to keep the secret in spite of all the inherent difficulties. Sit down, Mr.
Will you not pass in? The room is ready; the lamp is lighted. There is an agent of the police always at the end of the street now." "Ah, bah!" and he shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. "I am not afraid of them. There is only one thing to be feared, Citizen Jacquetot the press. The press and the people, bien entendu." "If you despise the people why do you use them?" asked Jacquetot abruptly.
The tobacconist mopped his head breathlessly. "Go," said the other, "and get a mattress. Bring it and lay it on this table. My brother is wounded. He has been hit." Jacquetot rose laboriously from his seat. He knew now that this was not the Vicomte d'Audierne. This man's method was quite different. He spoke with a quiet air of command, not doubting that his orders would be obeyed.
While the First Lord was assuming that sorely damaged battle-cruisers, or vessels which could be passed off in place of them, needed but his summons to spring from the deeps, Jacquetot had pressed a bell and ordered a messenger to request the immediate presence of the Fourth Sea Lord, within whose province was the whole art and mystery of ship construction.
Jacquetot read it, slipped a scale along the map, took out the two pins, and shifted them further south. "They are going well," said he; "doing twenty-five knots. They should be off Plymouth Sound by to-morrow evening." "It is a long way," put in Dawson, deeply interested. "Fifteen hundred miles." "There or thereabouts. The coast lights are all out, so that they will steer a bit wide.
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