Once Wilbraham passed close to him talking to the second British delegate, and fixed him with a glassy stare. Henry, refusing to be embarrassed, put up his monocle and stared back, as if surprised at the ill-breeding of this person.
So they came to the Monet pier, as the village church clock chimed seven.
[47]
The scheme of action had been carefully planned and organised by Signor Cristofero, with the help of the perfidious Roumanian Baptist at the château, who now, terrified at his own treachery, only longed for his master to be removed from the scene. The ex-cardinal, this Baptist had said, meant to dine that night, as he often did when he had not company, with his prisoners in the Keep Wing. He would be there when the detective, the police, the committee, and the press arrived at the château, and the party would be conducted there at once, to surprise the host and his guests at meat.
The delegate from Costa Rica had asked the detective if they should all bring weapons, but Signor Cristofero had said no.
“Quite unnecessary. Franchi does not go armed. He does not go in for bloodshed, except for some necessary purpose. When he sees he is trapped, he will throw down his hand with resignation. After all, the penalty for the abduction without injury, even of many delegates, is not very heavy. A term of imprisonment, then he will be free again. He intended, of course, to make his escape from the neighbourhood when he released his prisoners, and so be beyond reach of capture when the truth came out. He will be mortified at the failure of his plan—in so far as it has failed—but for himself he will not very greatly care. I know Dr. Franchi of old.”
So revolvers were only taken by delegates and journalists of those nations which regard these weapons as a natural part of the human equipment for facing society.
As they trailed up from the Monet pier through the village, the party had the innocuous, cheerful, plebeian, only-man-is-vile air of all large parties of pleasure in beautiful country.