The financier raised his head and watched me keenly.
“You, yourself, M. Petrovitch, have been active, I believe, in preparing the mind of the Czar and the Russian public for something of the sort. Doubtless you have not done so without very good grounds.”
“My information leads me to think that a flotilla of torpedo boats is being kept ready in the English ports for a night attack on our fleet during its progress through the North Sea.”
I smiled disdainfully.
“That is a false report. I have asked you to call here in the hope that I might find you ready to assist me in discrediting it.”
The Russian continued to watch me out of his narrow eyes.
“And, also,” I added, “to assist me in preventing any attempt to give color to it.”
“I am not sure that I understand you, Monsieur V——.”
“That is quite possible. I will speak more plainly. There are some prophets who take a little trouble to make their prophesies come true. I wish to know whether you and your friends have determined that this particular prophesy shall come true—perhaps to fulfill it yourselves?”
Petrovitch frowned and compressed his lips.