She looked keenly at him, astonished at the new aspect he presented.
Without came the shrill ringing of a bell, the sound of feet and the gabble of a phonographic message. The man in yellow appeared. “Yes?” said Graham.
“They are at Vichy.”
“Where are the attendants who were in the great Hall of the Atlas?” asked Graham abruptly.
Presently the Babble Machine rang again. “We may win yet,” said the man in yellow, going out to it. “If only we can find where Ostrog has hidden his guns. Everything hangs on that now. Perhaps this—”
Graham followed him. But the only news was of the aeroplanes. They had reached Orleans.
Graham returned to Helen. “No news,” he said “No news.”
“And we can do nothing?”
“Nothing.”
He paced impatiently. Suddenly the swift anger that was his nature swept upon him. “Curse this complex world!” he cried, “and all the inventions of men! That a man must die like a rat in a snare and never see his foe! Oh, for one blow!...”