The idea of burglary, flagrant and nefarious, he dismissed at a thought. Would there not be some way—an unguarded moment—a faithless servant—to give the thing the aspect of possible achievement? As he dressed he found himself thinking of the matter with more seriousness than it deserved.
CHAPTER IV
A week had passed since the two friends had met, and the Blue Wing now lay in the Potomac near the Seventh Street wharf. It was night and the men had dined.
Valentin’s dinners were a distinct achievement. They were of the kind which made conclusive the assumption of an especial heaven for cooks. After coffee and over a cigar, which made all things complete, Mortimer Crabb chose his psychological moment.
“Burnett,” he said, “you must see that treaty and copy it.”
Burnett looked at him squarely. Crabb’s glance never wavered.
“So you did mean it?” said Burnett.
“Every word. You must have it. I’m going to help.”