“With them it must be as Fate wills.”
“Women and children, potential sympathizers and supporters of all classes?” the Irishman persisted in incredulous horror—“all?”
“All,” Victor affirmed, coldly. “We who deal in the elemental passions that make revolutions, that is to say, in Life and Death, cannot afford qualms and scruples. What are a few lives more or less in London? These British breed like rabbits.”
“I see,” said Eleven, indistinctly. He stared a moment and swallowed hard, then glanced hastily at his watch. “I’ll be after bidding you good-night,” he said, “and pleasant dreams. For meself, I’m a fool if I go to bed this night sober enough to dream at all, at all!”
Victor rang for Shaik Tsin to show him out.
“One question more, if you won’t take it amiss,” Eleven suggested, lingering. And Victor inclined a gracious head. “Have you thought of failure?”
“I have thought of everything.”
“Well, and if we do fail—?”
“How, for example?”
“How do I know what hellish accident may kick our plans into a cocked hat? Anything might happen. There’s your friend, the Lone Wolf, for instance ...”