Topham fidgeted. He was not very apt at speech. “What war did you prevent?” he asked, at last, seeing that Rutile expected him to say something.
“Oh! None of any special consequence,” returned the other sarcastically, “Just a little bit of a war—one between Germany and the United States.”
“You’re joking, aren’t you?”
“Never less so. His Majesty Wilhelm was working to grab southern Brazil two or three years ago and I checkmated him; knocked his plans sky-high. If I hadn’t we’d have had to fight him or abandon the Monroe Doctrine. And just because I did it so quietly nobody knew anything about it, bright young men like you want to know whether I am serious; even the Ambassador has his doubts on the subject.”
Topham was not listening. Rutile’s mention of Brazil had given him the opening he desired.
“That reminds me,” he said, awkwardly, “What do you think of Count Ouro Preto and his sister? Risdon was speaking of them this morning, you know. They’re Brazilians, aren’t they?”
Rutile swallowed. It is not altogether pleasant to be checked so abruptly when talking about one’s self. Then he laughed.
“You’re the directest ever!” he remarked. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to know about the Countess Elsa, and save me telling you a lot of stuff you didn’t listen to? I suppose you have found out that it was she who crossed with you?”
Topham stared. “Yes!” he said. “Risdon pointed her out on the street this morning and I recognized her. How did you guess?”
“Oh! Easily! Her name really is Elsa Ferreira, you know. The title is very new—one of Dom Pedro’s creations just before he was turned out by the republic. So she’s been to New York! She’s been missing from here for about three weeks, and people have been wondering where she was.”