'Shall we go upstairs?' Sir Rupert asked. So the gentlemen went upstairs, and on their appearance the conversation between Dolores and Mrs. Sarrasin came to an end, as we know.
Soame Rivers went into his own little study, which was kept always for him, and there he opened his despatch. It was from a man in the Foreign Office who was in the innermost councils of Sir Rupert and himself.
'Tell Hamilton look quietly after Ericson. Certain information of dangerous plot against Ericson's life. Danger where least expected. Do not know any more. No need as yet alarm Sir Rupert.'
Soame Rivers read the despatch over and over again. It was in cypher—a cypher with which he was perfectly familiar. He grumbled and growled over it. It vexed him. For various reasons he had come to the conclusion that a great deal too much work was made over the ex-Dictator, and his projects, and his personal safety.
'All stuff and nonsense!' he said to himself. 'It's absurd to make such a fuss about this fellow. Nobody can think him important enough to get up any plot for killing him; as far as I am concerned I don't see why they shouldn't kill him if they feel at all like it—personally, I am sure I wish they would kill him.'
Soame Rivers thought to himself, although he hardly put the thought into words even to himself and for his own benefit, that he might have had a good chance of winning Helena Langley to be his wife—of having her and her fortune—only for this so-called Dictator, whom, as a Briton, he heartily despised.
'I'll think it over,' he said to himself; 'I need not show this danger-signal to Hamilton just yet. Hamilton is a hero-worshipper and an alarmist—and a fool.'
So, looking very green of complexion and grim of countenance, Soame Rivers crushed the despatch and thrust it into his pocket, and then went upstairs to the ladies.