"He would receive at the hands of the president of the company a packet of papers, formally the property of Sergeant Tom Mannis, of her Britannic Majesty's —th Fusiliers, lately deceased."
"And what would prevent the philanthropic but muscular Englishman from wringing the neck of the low-down sneak who has proposed this plan to him, and taking the papers out of his inside pocket?"
"Because, Excellency, they are now in the safe of the manufacturing company."
"And the president of that company?"
"Is a guest at your Excellency's wedding."
Darcy clenched his hands nervously. He was battling silently, skilfully, not to betray the dread which was unnerving him. The music floated out from the house—fitful and discordant.
"An Englishman," he said slowly, "never gives way to a threat, but of course, if he could be brought to see the purely philanthropic side of the argument, and receive—well, say, five per cent. of the bullion carried, for his travelling expenses, he might see his way to sacrifice his personal interests for the good of his adopted country."
"Good," said the stranger. "The president will meet you the day after to-morrow, at three o'clock in the afternoon, at the capital in the San Carlos Club."
"Very well," said Darcy. "Go. Someone's coming!"
The figure of the stranger faded into the darkness, and a moment later the soft footsteps of a woman approached.