"Yes, yes," broke in Mr. Brown, who had only half understood the Count's monologue; "then he will cause a revolution here in England, and Britain as a fighting power will be paralysed. But I am not sure of him. He loves his country, and unless Olga gets hold of him, and that soon, he will see what our plans mean, and he will refuse to move hand or foot. You see, we've got no hold on him."
"We've every hold on him," almost snapped the Count. "We've appealed to his every weakness, and Olga will do the rest. I select my tools carefully, my friend."
A knock was heard at the door, and the Count impatiently opened it. "I am engaged; I cannot be disturbed," he said.
"The lady said she must see you," protested the servant, "so I—I thought I'd better come."
The Count looked beyond the man, and saw a woman closely veiled.
"Show the lady in," and a few seconds later she threw off her wraps and revealed her face.
"Olga?" cried both men together.
"Yes; I thought I'd better brave all danger. I've heard from him."
"From Faversham?"
"Yes; a long telegram."