When Topham left Miss Byrd he went back to the American embassy. The hour was late and the windows were all dark and the rooms seemed deserted, and despite Rutile’s invitation for a moment Topham hesitated to climb the stairs.
Finally he stepped to the entrance, intending to ask the watchman-porter there whether the secretary had gone. To his surprise—though not so greatly so as it would have been if he had known German customs better—the door was ajar and the watchman missing; so with a shrug of his shoulders he entered and climbed the stairs.
A tap at the embassy offices brought immediate answer, and he opened the door just as Rutile came to meet him.
“Come in, old man,” called the latter. “I’ve been sitting in the moonlight thinking something out. I often do when I’ve got something important on hand. Come and sit down and I’ll light up and we’ll have a drink.”
Topham took the proffered chair, but declined the drink. “Not tonight, thank you!” he decided. “And don’t light up for me. I like moonlight. Queer about the moon, though. It affects most people the other way, doesn’t it.”
“Maybe! But not me! I’m rather excitable, you know. Liable to get worked up over things and to exaggerate their importance. When I suspect I’m doing that, I sit down in the moonlight—if there’s a moon handy—and in the stillness—if stillness is to be had—and think it all over. That’s what I’ve been doing tonight.
“And did it soothe you?”
Rutile shook his head, doubtfully. “I’m not certain,” he admitted. “You navy people have the best of it, after all. You haven’t got to agitate your supposed brains. All you’ve got to do is to fight, and if you get a chance to distinguish yourself the whole country knows it and the Sunday newspapers call you heroes and clamor for your promotion. We diplomats, on the other hand, are valuable in the inverse ratio that we make it known.”
“Yes?” remarked Topham, languidly.
“Yes! Of course!” returned Rutile, impatiently. “We diplomats are the real defenders of the peace. Suppose we had a war! All you fellows could do would be to whip the enemy and if you did it you would get medals and prize money and things. But I’ve prevented at least one war and nobody knows anything about it except the last administration at Washington and if there’s any deader tomb for a man’s achievements than the last administration, I don’t know where it is—unless it’s the administration before the last.”