Rutile choked. “Oh! yes! certainly,” he acceded. “Now, if you’ll excuse me for a moment I’ll see just what these instructions are about.”
“All right!”
Rutile examined the carefully placed seals, made sure that they were intact, and then broke them and drew out the papers inside. A moment later he gave a low whistle.
“Say, old man?” he exclaimed. “It’s just as I thought. You came over with—with—”
The sentence was never finished. While the secretary hesitated for a word, the door of the room was flung open and a young man rushed in and dropped into a chair.
CHAPTER VI
The young man who flung into the embassy as if he owned it was small, round and jolly, with a twinkle in his eye that persisted even when, as at the moment in question, he was fuming with anger and disgust.
“Give me a drink, for God’s sake, Rutile,” he cried. “I’ve been talking to Ouro Preto and I need a bracer. Of all the—”
“Hello, Risdon!” Topham stepped forward and held out his hand. “Hello! old man!” he repeated, smilingly.
“By all the gods! Walter Topham! Where in thunder did you come from?” He grabbed the other’s hand and wrung it warmly. “Say!” he went on, “We’ve simply got to celebrate this! Rutile. Are you going to order those drinks, or shall I?”