"I shall write to the Times," cried Norman, rising from his chair to leave.
"My brother," said the Consul, with a smile, "edits the correspondence columns of that august journal. Of course, he will print your letter. But he will also print"—here the Consul rose and his tone grew severer still—"a note to say that I treated you with all civility although you had no passport and no letter of introduction, and that you deceived me to my certain knowledge by telling half-truths."
"Half-truths!" exclaimed Norman.
"What about the jewelled buckle that was presented to you by the society?"
"Why, I had forgotten about it."
"And—a much more serious matter—what about the injunction to silence which was laid on you by the President?"
"You did not let me finish my story. What do you know about the jewelled buckle? How do you know there was an injunction to silence?"
"That injunction to silence you had better have obeyed, sir. However, you may rely on my discretion. If you insist on demanding reparation, I am bound to state your case before higher authorities, but I warn you you will get none, and you will endanger your life and perhaps mine. The present made to you was an ample reparation for your temporary inconvenience. I will give you a few minutes to consider the matter."
Norman sat down, bewildered. Before he could think of anything the telephone bell rang again.
"Come in," called the Consul. Norman rose politely as the newcomer entered.