CHAPTER VII. — DIPLOMACY WINS
Underhill, left alone, sat for some moments looking from the broken table to the cannonball and then back again. Finally he picked up a fragment of glass, for the Royal face protector had likewise been broken, when the good old English oak had met its defeat at the hands of this Hun of the world of science, and with it, very gingerly, he tapped the iron ball—this rusty old barbarian which had set at naught the force of gravity, had violated all the established laws of nature, and had like the Germans in Belgium smashed through.
Finding that nothing happened, he hesitated for a moment, and, then, bracing himself against the shock, he touched his finger gently to this rude old paradox. There was no shock, and, reassured, he leaned across the table and tried with both hands to lift the cannon-ball.
“That part is genuine there is no doubt,” he granted. “That old cannon-ball must have been here since—?” He gave a start as his eyes caught the inscription pasted upon it, which was:
“A freak cannon-ball, made at the Forge
and Manor of Greenwood, Virginia, 1778.
Presented in 1889 to Lord Roberts by
General George Bolling Anderson, Governor
of the State of Virginia.”
“How extraordinary!” he exclaimed. “These Americans are popping up at every turn.”
He passed out into the large outer office, and, glancing at his watch, summoned an undersecretary.
“It is now just a quarter after twelve,” he said, “and the Cabinet lunches at Buckingham Palace at two. Present my compliments to Lord Rockstone and Sir Egbert Graves, and say that I should like to see them both here for a few minutes on a matter of the greatest importance, and that much as I regret to trouble them it is absolutely necessary that this meeting be held in my office and before they go on to the Palace.”
To another attendant who, moved by curiosity, was going in the direction of the smaller room, he said: “Place a sentry at that door when I leave. No one is to be allowed to enter that room until I give further orders.”