“Are you pretending?” I whispered.
He gave me a savage glance.
“It’s true!” he said. “Those devils will be up to something. It’s all over with the fleet. No one believes we shall ever see Port Arthur.”
Grave and pre-occupied, I went ashore and caught a fast train to Petersburg.
It was late when I got to the little house on the Alexander Quay. The faithful Breuil received me with a serious face.
“Fauchette is here,” he announced.
“Fauchette?”
“Yes. She has some news for you.”
“Let me see her.”
I strode in front to my study, where I was immediately joined by the maid, who appeared not a little alarmed.