'My watch has stopped,' said he, in a thick voice, to Sleath.
'Indeed,' said the baronet, not much interested in the matter.
'I tried to wind it up last night, and mistook the corkscrew for a key.'
'After such a devil of a time as we have had of it I don't wonder at anything.'
Meanwhile Sleath was still considering how he would induce Ellinor to trust herself on shore with him, after writing to announce her coming to the Frau Wyburg's residence, or pension as she was pleased to call it; and Dewsnap was busy imbibing a 'pick-me-up' of iced seltzer and brandy, while conning over the sporting intelligence at several recent meetings—the plates run for, the bets at starting, the Welter sweepstakes, and so forth, without even caring to open the letters the steward had brought him from the Poste Restante at the Post Strasse, when suddenly a loud interjection escaped him.
'What is up?' asked Sleath, looking up from his coffee.
'The devil to pay in the East!'
'How?'
'A Reuter's telegram announcing the murder of Sir Louis Cavagnari, and massacre of the entire embassy at Cabul!'
'The entire lot?'