His hand almost shook as he drafted his message, sending it at urgent rates, by both wireless and cable to America, and by cable to the London office, for luck. As he filed his stuff, he noted with satisfaction that the clerks were getting ready to leave. His would be the last message to get through that night. He had beaten the world.
He reëntered the hotel with the feeling of a conqueror, that he must succeed in whatever he undertook. He would see Sylvia again presently, just as soon as he had had a look in the ballroom, at the other correspondents, to make sure that they were still in ignorance. He sauntered up to Kittrick. He and Templeton were chatting idly. He joined them. So far the news was not out. But as they stood there, he noticed Butterfield in eager conversation with some Japanese. Now he glanced about, left the hall hurriedly. Now the Japanese was talking to Carew, editor of the Japan American, and Carew also suddenly became active, febrile, as if he had received an electric shock.
"Hallo, Carew, what's the rush?" Kent caught him as he was hastening past them. The editor glanced at his wrist-watch. "Past cable time, I see. I might as well tell you. The Premier was assassinated less than an hour ago. No, I have no details. I've got to hurry over to the shop. I'm going to look after this make-up myself."
Safe, by George! Still he said nothing to the others. They would find out soon enough that he had beaten them. But he wanted to bring his triumph to her, Sylvia, a conqueror with the spoils of victory. But on his way through Peacock Alley he met Karsten alone.
"Sorry, old man; I did the best I could to hold the lady, but I must be getting old, losing my grip, or what? Anyway, she did not seem to take to me as a substitute for you at all, acted sort of dumb, moonstruck—you acted in a sort of a dazed way, too, for that matter," he whistled provokingly. "What do you intend to do now, anyway; the night's still young."
"If you don't mind, I think I'll go home. Did you hear what the news was, about the assassination of Mito? Well, I scored a clean beat, as you may know. I want to get home and gloat comfortably, to enjoy my thoughts of my luck."
"Oh, what absolute liars newspapermen are." Karsten placed an arm affectionately about his shoulders. "I can't let you insult my intelligence by letting you think that I believe that. Kent, looking at you, I have wondered whether when, in my sinful past, I have been in love, I have looked so damned silly as that? It's wonderful; and whether you deny it or not, I'm going to open a bottle of Cliquot with you when we come home."