CHAPTER XXVIII
When the night had swallowed up both the yacht and the cruiser, Topham drew a long breath and turned to Lillian.
“Great Scott!” he exclaimed boyishly, “what a yarn this would make for the Gazette—if you could only print it.”
Lillian bubbled toward him. “Mayn’t I?” she asked, plaintively, but as one who knew the answer already.
But Topham laughed. “Not a word,” he said. “The situation is too ticklish. Do you know, young woman, that your respected chief, Mr. McNew, thought it so serious that he brought your dispatch to Washington and showed it to the President without publishing it—to the President, mind you! Your chief and the President! It took something mighty serious to bring those two together. Do you know that the United States and Germany were on the brink of war tonight?”
Lillian nodded. “I suppose so,” she answered, seriously, “I suppose, too, that that German officer—Commander Metternich was he?—will have trouble over letting us get away.”
Topham nodded, but before he could speak Rutile struck in. “No,” he said, “I think not. His captain may give him a wigging, but it’s nothing to what the Kaiser would have done to him if he had gone a little too far. Wilhelm doesn’t want war. He’s merely bluffing.”
“But”—Topham was amazed. “But he—”
“Yes! I know. But things are not just as you would suppose. I’ve had nearly a month’s time and first-class opportunities to learn the ins and outs of the whole conspiracy. If we can go below and sit down, I’ll try to explain just what I think Wilhelm was after.”
In a few minutes the party was sitting around the table in Quentin’s cabin. Rutile leaned across it.