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Updated: May 20, 2025
Fanshawe glanced around the saloon and lowered his voice. "I claim your aid towards the overthrowing of the usurping House of Brangaza and the restoration to power in Spain of my own line." Sogrange was silent for several moments. Peter was leaning forward in his place, deeply interested. Decidedly, this American trip seemed destined to lead towards events!
"Guess this is one of the toughest spots in New York City. You stick close to me and I'll make things all right." His method of making things all right was the same in every case. He would form a circle of disreputable youths, for whose drinks Sogrange was called upon to pay. The attitude of the young men was more dejected than positively vicious.
"Do you ever bet, Marquis?" Peter Ruff asked. "Twenty-five thousand francs," Sogrange said, smiling, "that your efforts to aid Mr. John Dory are unavailing." Peter Ruff entered the amount in his pocketbook. "It is a bargain," he declared. "Our bet, I presume, carries immunity for me?" "By all means," Sogrange answered, with a little bow.
Paris is within a year now of a second and more terrible revolution." "You really believe this?" Peter asked, gravely. "It is a certainty," Sogrange replied. "Not I alone but many others can see this clearly. Everywhere the Socialists have wormed themselves into places of trust. They are to be met with in every rank of life, under every form of disguise.
Sogrange and Peter, Baron de Grost, standing upon the threshold of their hotel, gazed out upon New York and liked the look of it. They had landed from the steamer a few hours before, had already enjoyed the luxury of a bath, a visit to an American barber's, and a genuine cocktail. "I see no reason," Sogrange declared, "why we should not take a week's holiday."
"Who can it be?" the Baroness exclaimed, setting her glass down abruptly. "It is, perhaps, the other guest who arrives," Sogrange remarked. They all three listened, Peter and Sogrange with their glasses still suspended in the air. "The other guest?" the Baroness repeated. "Madame von Estenier is upstairs, lying down. I cannot tell who this may be." Her lips were parted.
Peter made his way thoughtfully back to his seat. He explained the situation to his wife so far as he could, and sent her home. Then he waited about until the car returned, smoking a cigarette and trying once more to remember if he had ever heard anything from Sogrange of Andrea Korust or his brother.
The Government of our country has craved for our aid and the aid of our organisation. It is no longer the wealth of the world alone which we may control, but the actual destinies of nations." "What I suppose you mean to say is," Peter Ruff remarked, "that you've been going in for politics?" "You put it crudely, my English bulldog," Sogrange answered, "but you are right.
Peter sank upon the cushioned seat by his side. "You were right," he remarked. "Bernadine has been busy." Sogrange smiled. "I trust," he said, "that the Duchesse is not proving faithless?" "So far," Peter replied, "I have kept my end up. To-morrow will be the test. Bernadine has filled her with caution. She thinks that I know everything whatever everything may be.
Sir John, Sogrange and Peter, three of the men one limping badly, came to a standstill in the middle of the lawn. Before them, the house was crumbling like a pack of cards, and louder even than the thunder of the falling structure was the roar of the red flames. "The Baroness!" Peter cried, and took one leap forward. "I am here," she sobbed, running to them from out of the shadows.
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