“Ah, but in Russia,” she cried vehemently. “What of the damned Russians?” In her excitement she spoke the language of the army. Of her hearers, the men seemed a little more shocked than the women. “Are they keeping him pretty busy? No! Are they holding his vast armies in check? No! They are doing more than that. They are shoving him back, driving him and all of his men and guns out of Russia. Driving them down into Italy and over to Flanders, that is what they are doing. And you,—you and France and England,—will not wake up until it is too late. When the beastly Russians have driven the Germans into Paris, and across the English Channel, and down to Rome, then you will understand.”
“But the Italians will hold the ground they have gained,” protested one of the men. “I talked with members of the commission before they sailed the other day, and there wasn't one of them who expressed the slightest uneasiness about the Italian front. On the other hand, they were of the opinion that the Italians would continue to advance. The Austrians are shot to pieces.”
“Italy was not represented in that secret mission, my dear sir,” said the Countess, a trifle curtly. “You do not know what the Italians know, and what they are actually dreading. They know they cannot resist a great offensive.”
“Well, as long as the Germans are ignorant of the true state of affairs, I can't see that there is much to worry about,” said Carstairs pleasantly.
“But the Germans will not remain in ignorance for ever, Mr. Carstairs,” exclaimed the Countess. “They find out everything,—everything, in time.”
“Not everything,” said the Admiral of the navy, blandly. “Their marvellous spy system failed completely in the case of the Franco-British special mission. The members of the party came, remained here for more than a fortnight, sailed for home last week, and Germany never had so much as an inkling of the visit. By this time the Campion is no doubt safely through the danger zone. I call that beating the devil with his own stick.”
“The Campion?” fell sharply from the lips of Mrs. Carstairs.
“You are mistaken, Admiral. They sailed on the Elston,” said her husband.
The Admiral beamed. “My dear sir, the entire party was transferred to the Campion ten hours after the Elston sailed out of this port. The Secretary took no chances. He had that devilish Kitchener betrayal in mind. There was the possibility, you know, of a leak somewhere. One never can tell. So everything that could be thought of was done to frustrate the 'system.' The destruction of the Elston with those men on board would have been a greater disaster to the Allies than the loss of Kitchener or half the battle front in France. I happen to know the transfer was made safely and according to plans. The Elston continued her voyage in convoy, but she was laden with nothing more precious than food for the Germans.”
“Food for the Germans?” cried the Italian Countess, aghast.