“You are late, mine friend.”
“In good time, however,” Thirteen responded with a nod toward the vacant chair. “More than that, the summons was handed me only twenty minutes ago.”
“How was that?” the babu asked. “It was sent at six o’clock.”
“I was at work in the laboratory and had left orders I was not to be disturbed. But for one thing”—the petulance of Thirteen’s habitual expression was lightened by a flash of self-gratulation, and his voice shook a little with excitement—“I might not have received the summons before morning.”
“And that one thing?”
“Success, comrades! At last—after months of experimentation—I have been successful!”
“’Ow?” dryly demanded the man in the checked suit.
“I have discovered a great secret—discovered, perfected, adapted it to common means at our command. Comrades, I tell you, to-night we hold all England in the hollow of our hands!”
With an incoherent exclamation and eyes afire the Russian sat forward. Unconsciously the others imitated his action. Only the man in evening dress made a show of remaining unimpressed.
“It’s fine, fat words you’re after using,” he commented. “‘All England in the hollow of our hands!’ If they mean anything at all, comrade, they mean—”