“Then I am at your service.”
“I regret, deeply regret this duel,” said our chief, “but it does seem to me, if it must take place, a sure means of effecting our purpose.” As he spoke, the secretary gathered up the various papers.
“I think, sir,” said Merton, “it will be well if one, or, better, two responsible people remain here overnight.” This seemed to us a proper precaution.
As we had talked I saw Merton playing with the dusty blue ribbon which, when he entered, lay beside the papers. As we rose I missed it, and knew that he had put it in his pocket. After we had arranged for our passports I left with Merton. As we walked away he said:
“I propose that you say at once to the baron’s friends that we will leave for Belgium to-morrow. It is not unusual, and I have a right to choose. You must insist. Porthos is wild for a fight, and—confound it, don’t look so anxious. This affair has hurried things a little; I wanted more practice. I should be a fool to say I am a match for Porthos, but he is very big. If I can tire him, or get a scratch such as stops these affairs—somehow it will come to an end, and, at all events, how better could I risk my life for my country? It must be lightly talked about in the clubs to-night.” West and I took care that it was.
The next day early we were at the legation. The first secretary was preparing the dummy. “Pity,” said Merton, “to leave the enclosure a blank.” The secretary laughed and wrote on the inside cover:
Trust you will find this interesting,
Yours,
Uncle Sam.
We went out, Merton and I looking at our passports and talking loudly. At ten that morning the first secretary and an attaché started for London. To anticipate, he was jostled by two men on the Dover pier that afternoon, and until a few minutes later did not detect his loss of the papers. It was cleverly done. Of course he made a complaint and the police proved useless.