But neither of these telegrams reached Jeneski, nor did the ones from Paris, Brussels and Belgrade, for by the time they had been relayed through to his capital, Jeneski had departed. Nobody knew he had departed, except three of his ministers whom he had called together in the early morning to read a telegram which had just arrived from Nice; the general impression was that he was suffering from a slight cold; but as a matter of fact he was in an airplane flying across the Adriatic.
As Selden had suspected, there was no lack of decision about Jeneski in a critical moment, but even his ministers wondered what he could hope to accomplish at Nice. Two of them were strongly of the opinion that he should stay at home and begin at once to organize his forces; if it got about that he had left the country, the effect would be very bad. The royalists might even attempt a counter-revolution. The third one urged him by all means to go, but it was in the secret hope that he would fall into the Adriatic en route, and the way be opened for the king and the millions he would bring with him. Perhaps Jeneski suspected this, but he started just the same.
The stir in London was not only in the diplomatic dovecotes, for a number of people of no discoverable occupation either sent urgent telegrams in cipher or else suddenly discovered that they needed a rest on the Riviera and booked places on the afternoon boat-train. And, of course, the foreign editor of every newspaper wired his Nice correspondent (or his Paris correspondent, if he had none at Nice) an inquiry, more or less polite, as to how the devil he had come to miss this important piece of news.
During the day, this commotion spread to the continent, and from Paris, Rome, Vienna, Lucerne, hopeful adventurers turned their faces toward Nice, like vultures gathering for a feast, all of them anxious to assist in the restoration of a dynasty so well fortified with real money in the shape of American dollars.
All of which was brought forcibly to Selden’s notice about the middle of the afternoon when he was startled out of his thoughts by the ringing of his ’phone.
“Yes—what is it?” he asked.
“’Allo! Is this M. Selden?”
“Yes.”
“’Allo! This is the manager.”
“Yes; what is it?”