"There are two ways," he announced, "of dealing with an opponent. There is the old-fashioned one—crude, but, in a sense, eminently satisfactory—which sends him finally to adorn some other sphere."
"I do not like that one," de Grost interrupted. "Get on with the alternative."
"The alternative," Bernadine declared, "is when his capacity for harm can be destroyed."
"That needs a little explanation," de Grost murmured.
"Precisely. For instance, if you were to become absolutely discredited, I think that you would be effectually out of my way. Your people do not forgive."
"Then discredit me, by all means," de Grost begged. "It sounds unpleasant, but I do not like your callous reference to the river."
Bernadine gazed at his ancient opponent for several moments. After all, what was this but the splendid bravado of a beaten man, who is too clever not to recognise defeat?
"I shall require," he said, "your code, the keys of your safe, which contains a great many documents of interest to me, and a free entry into your house."
De Grost drew a bunch of keys reluctantly from his pocket and laid them upon the desk.
"You will find the code bound in green morocco leather," he announced, "on the left-hand side, underneath the duplicate of a proposed Treaty between Italy and—some other Power. Between ourselves, Bernadine, I really expect that that is what you are after."