“But it is of consequence,” Lord Romsey insisted. “You have dared to proclaim yourself an ambassador to me from a country with whom England is at war. Even a discussion between us amounts almost to treason. On second thoughts I decline to receive you.”
He held out his hand towards the electric bell which stood on his study table. His visitor shook his head.
“I wouldn’t adopt that attitude, if I were you,” he said calmly. “You know why. If you are really curious about my nationality, there is no harm in telling you that I am an American citizen, that I have held for three years the post of American chaplain at Brussels. Better let me say what I have come to say.”
Lord Romsey hesitated. His natural propensity for temporising asserted itself and his finger left the bell. The other continued.
“You are in the unfortunate position, Lord Romsey, of having failed absolutely in your duty towards your own country, and having grossly and traitorously deceived a personage who has always treated you with the greatest kindness. I am here to see if it is possible for you to make some amends.”
“I deny every word you say,” the Minister declared passionately, “and I refuse to hear your proposition.”
Mr Sidney’s manner suddenly changed. He leaned forward in his chair.
“Do not be foolish,” he advised. “Your last letter to a certain personage was dated June second. I have a copy of it with me. Shall I read it to you, word by word?”
“Thank you, I remember enough of it,” Lord Romsey groaned.
“You will listen, then to what I have to say,” the envoy proceeded, “or that letter will be published in the Times to-morrow morning. You know what that will mean—your political ruin, your everlasting disgrace. What use will this country, blinded at the present moment by prejudice, have for a statesman, who without authority, pledged his Government to an alliance with Germany, who over his own signature—”