"Well?" he said.
"Each one of us," Monsieur Bardow said, standing, a slim, calm figure at the end of the table, with his fingers resting upon its leather top, "has a story to tell you. The stories vary only from their point of view. The end of all is the same. It is this: unless the English government sends a fast destroyer to Kiel before four o'clock to-morrow afternoon, the Germans will command London before seven days have passed. And to the best of my belief, Mr. Staunton, you are the only man who can save this country."
"I will hear the story in a moment," Staunton said calmly. "First! You have been to the government?"
"We have," Guest answered. "They decline to hear us, believe us, or receive us. They scoff at our facts and ignore our warnings."
"You have some proofs?"
"We have almost convincing ones," Guest answered. "A further one almost cost us our lives a few minutes ago! The restaurant where we were deliberating was blown up by a bomb, placed there by some one who suspected us."
"The name of the restaurant?" Staunton asked.
"The Café Suisse," I told him.
From his look of interest, I knew that he had heard something about the place.
"Well," he said, "let me hear the stories."