The missile stunned the President and cut a great gash in his head, and he fell senseless forward on the desk, a stream of mingled ink and blood dripping from his forehead upon the papers.
Carey looked at him disdainfully for a moment, and laughed derisively.
The policeman at the door said nothing to him as he went out; there had been no noise from the private room.
Then he walked a little hurriedly to his cab and told the cabman to drive to the club.
On the way there he trembled violently with rage as he thought of what the President had said to him of his wife, but chuckled when he thought of the revenge which he had taken.
"He will wake up with a cursed headache," Carey said to himself, "and if he wishes to arrest me, he can do it. Even the President cannot slander a man's wife."
He was quite sober now, and had forgotten all about his "system." He thought of his wife, and wondered if she was pleased at the little present which he had sent to her in Paris; he thought of the days of his early love for her, when she had seemed to him a goddess; and this scoundrel had called her, his Eleanor, a spy, and asserted that he had come to claim the reward of her treachery. At the club he noticed that all the men whispered to each other and smiled. When he entered the smoking-room a group were eagerly reading the latest news, which rolled in over the "ticker" in the corner. He supposed that the other fellows were making merry over his losses, and, with a hard laugh, he settled into an easy-chair and lighted a cigar. It pleased him to think of the President's bald head smeared with blood and ink. He felt himself more of a man than he had for years. Just then a waiter brought him a letter upon a tray. It was his letter to his wife in Paris, into which he had slipped the bank-notes. Her bankers had returned it to him, and it was marked "Not found." He thrust it into his pocket, and wondered where Eleanor might be, and why he had not heard from her all this time. He remembered now that she had been gone a long time; he had been so absorbed in his play that he had not thought much about it before. Looking up, he saw that the other men were all clustered around the "ticker," and that one of them was reading a despatch, and the others listened attentively, every now and then glancing over to him. He could not imagine at first what they were after; then it occurred to him that they were sending the news of his assault upon the President.
"What is it all about, you fellows?" he asked, walking over to them; "it must be damned amusing!" The men scattered as he approached, and left the "ticker" for his use, looking uneasily at him as he lifted the white tape in his hand and read the despatch which had so much interested them.
It was from Boston, U. S. A., telling of the arrival of the steamer with King George the Fifth and Mrs. Oswald Carey on board. The despatch darkly hinted that she had been the cause of the King's failure to meet his adherents at Aldershot.
The room grew dark to Carey, and seemed to whir around him; the other men saw his face grow deadly white and his lips close firmly. He did not seem to notice them, but he pulled his hat over his eyes and staggered from the room.