“The fact is,” he added, by way of explanation, “that these Americans don’t know enough about your Emperor to be properly impressed. Could you send along a good-sized photo of him, in uniform if possible? I am sure it would have a great effect.”
Then he wrote to Sir Bartholomew Bland-Potterton. Knowing how all members of our governing classes delight in official fussiness he threw his letter into a telegraphic form.
“Things more complicated than anticipated,” he wrote. “Will Government recognize Salissa as independent state? Query attitude President U. S. A. Urgent.—Gorman.”
He read over what he had written with extreme satisfaction. It pleased him to think that Steinwitz would immediately go out and buy an enormous photograph of the Emperor; that he would send it out to Salissa with perfect confidence in the effect it would produce. It was also pleasant to think of Konrad Karl and Madame Ypsilante making efforts to get rid of the remains of Donovan’s money by scattering it about the streets of Paris. But his despatch to Bland-Potterton pleased him most of all. He imagined that gentleman, swollen with the consciousness of important news, dashing off to the Foreign Office in a taxi-cab, posing Ministers of State with unanswerable conundrums, very probably ruffling the calm waters of Washington with cablegrams of inordinate length and fierce urgency.
He rang the bell for Smith.
“I’ve just written some letters,” he said; “will you send them off to the Ida and ask Captain Wilson to have them posted when he arrives in London or earlier if he calls at any intermediate port.”
“Yes, sir. Certainly, sir. Beg pardon, sir, but will you be staying on in the palace?”
“For a week or two, Smith.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll make all arrangements. Your luggage will be fetched from the steamer. If you leave your keys with me I’ll see to the unpacking.”
Gorman had no keys.