CHAPTER XV
AN INTERNATIONAL ISSUE
By a merciful dispensation, the ducal party withdrew at twenty-five minutes past twelve, doubtless to avert the ignominy of compulsion at the half-hour. By that means we were at least spared any further ordeal that might be forthcoming from that quarter. And yet would it have been an ordeal? That conflict which a little while ago had seemed so demoralising to the overwrought nerves was now only too likely to be hailed as the sublimity of battle.
We were loth to obey the inexorable decree of the Licensing Act, but there was no choice. Happily the five minutes' start enjoyed by our friends and neighbours gave us a clear field, and without further misadventure the "Stormy Petrel" was escorted to her chariot. She drove off with Fitz to her hotel, while the rest of us, in no humour for repose, yielded to the suggestion of Alexander O'Mulligan, "that we should toddle round to Jermyn Street and draw him for a drink."
It had begun to freeze. Although the pavements were like glass, overhead the stars were wonderful. The shrewd air was like a balm for the fumes of the wine and the spirit of lawlessness that had aroused us to a pitch of exaltation that was almost dangerous. We decided to walk, if only to lessen the tension upon our nerves. The three junior members of the conspiracy walked ahead, a little roisterous of aspect, arm in arm, uncertain of gait—to be sure the condition of the streets afforded every excuse—and their hats askew. At a respectful distance and in a fashion more decorous they were followed by the Chief Constable and myself.
"And now, Coverdale," said I, "have the goodness to explain what you meant when you told me not to ask what happened to the Ambassador?"
I received no answer.
"My dear fellow," I urged, "I think I am entitled to know."
"You ought to be able to guess!"
"I don't understand; Fitz is certainly safe and sound. How did you manage to bring them to reason?"