The Duke hurriedly crossed to the safe, set the cypher, opened the doors, and secured the package of the Russian papers. After some hesitation he opened a cupboard between the windows, and hid the package in the pocket of an old office coat. A spy concealed within the panelling of the walls saw everything, the matured result of a plot to get the papers taken out of the safe and placed within reach of capture.
The Duke came out from the closet, turned to close the door, then with a violent start swung round raising his arms as though to defend himself. The Secretary for War had entered unannounced, was crossing towards the desk, and him the Duke confronted, his head thrown back, white fluttering hands waving dismissal.
"Leave my room," he said haughtily, "request my secretary to announce you, sir."
"Bosh—keep that for your flunkies, Ulster, I've got no time for your trumpery etiquette. Come to the House if you want to save your Government."
The Duke sat down in his official chair, and under lowering brows, glared at the Minister.
"Sir Myles," he said, "do you think you are entirely safe insulting me?"
"Safe? Confound you, Ulster—do your worst. We'll both be ruined by midnight anyway. Brand's people have attacked us in the Commons—they've produced this damned Treaty of yours with Russia—clause by clause, and the House is furious. We've had to give them the lie that there's any such Treaty. Come down and defend yourself, man, if you want to stay in office."
"Sir Myles," answered the Chancellor, "go to the Opposition with all your tribe, if you dare! Go, take your panic back to your seat in the House, and when I follow, see that I find you there. Get out of my room."
The Chancellor was alone in the silence, gnawing his fingers, biting his nails to the quick.
He must go to the House of Lords, he must fight, he must get the Commons pacified, the Russian Treaty accepted by Parliament—that or war with the Leagued Nations, that or the destruction of the betrayed fleets, that or invasion, conquest, the fall of the Empire, his own destruction, and never-ending infamy. What could he do in the Parliament, what threats, sacrifices, appeals—to rally his scattered forces, to stay their panic? Yes! In one flash he saw his way cleared. He rose from his place triumphant, his eyes alight with victory! The Queen's move gives checkmate to this King Brand III.