“Yes,” said the first secretary, “that is no doubt true. Now the whole affair is changed. I am certain that the house will have been searched and the scattered ashes seen. They will then feel sure that we have the papers.”
I had to confess that, in my haste, I had taken no pains about restoring the ashes. My footprints in the garden soil and my want of care would help to make plain that the papers had been removed, and any clever detective would then infer what had been the purpose of the pistol-shots. I had been stupid and had to agree with the secretary that they would now know they had been tricked and see that the game so far had been lost. The legation and all of us would be still more closely watched, and I, for one, was also sure that the messenger to England would never see London with the papers still in his possession.
Meanwhile, as the secretary and our chief discussed the question, my mind was on Merton. About ten, to my relief, he sent in his card. He entered smiling.
“Good morning, Mr. Dayton. All right, Greville?”
I said: “Yes, the papers are here. These gentlemen all know. Had you any trouble?”
“A little. When I fired shot after shot in the air and our man was screaming murder, they all ran toward us like ducks to a decoy. I ran, too, and Alphonse. As I crossed a road, I came upon a big gendarme. I am afraid I hurt him. Oh, not much. After that I had no difficulty. And now perhaps I am in the way.” He rose as he spoke.
The minister said: “No. Sit down, captain.”
He resumed his seat, and sat a quiet listener to our statement of difficulties. At last he said: “Will you pardon me if I make a suggestion?”
“By all means,” said the chief. “It is almost as much your concern as ours.”