“I am glad of this opportunity of thanking you for what you did for my friend, Tillinghast, last night, Count,” answered Long, shaking hands warmly; while Dick busied himself putting cigars and cigarettes on the table alongside a syphon of vichy and its accompanying bottle of Scotch.
“I am a poor hand at expressing my feelings, Count,” said the latter, gravely. “I owe you a debt I can never repay.”
“If I have won your friendship, I am repaid,” replied de Smirnoff, looking with admiration at Dick’s fine, determined face.
The Slav and the Anglo-Saxon have one trait in common—neither is demonstrative. Long, seeing that both men were much embarrassed, broke the awkward pause.
“Suppose, Count, you tell us how you came to arrive at the studio at so opportune a moment for Dick.”
“May I speak of confidential matters?” asked the Russian, glancing hastily about the room.
“Yes, indeed; there is no danger of our being overheard.”
“Some months ago our Secret Service Bureau, which is probably the finest in the world, received information that the Camorra were plotting against the Grand Duke’s life,” began de Smirnoff.
“I thought it was usually the Nihilists who do that,” interposed Long.
“The hands of the Nihilists, anarchists, the Mafia, and the Camorra are all raised against law and order, General; call them what you will. At present the Camorra desire to punish the Grand Duke because he was instrumental in having certain information against their leaders given to the Italian Government.