“Your boss politicians,” said Conroy, “have been flooding us out with telegrams.”
There was a large pile of telegrams in front of him and some forty or fifty loose sheets of flimsy yellow paper were scattered about the table.
“Their notion,” said Conroy, “is that we should send a man over to negotiate.”
“An ambassador,” I said, “Plenipotentiary?”
“Lord Moyne won’t go,” said the Dean.
“He’s the proper man,” I said. “Let’s try to persuade him.”
“He’s up at the barracks,” said McNeice. “He’s been there all morning trying to get the General to arrest him.”
“It would be far better,” I said, “if he went to London and handed himself over to the Prime Minister.”
“European convention,” said Conroy, “makes it necessary, so I am informed, that this particular kind of job should be done by a member of your aristocracy.”