But yet again he was interrupted, and now, by the dark young man; who leapt from his place, a hectic flush colouring his pale cheeks.
“You have them, monsieur?” he cried, holding his outstretched hands towards us. “God! you have them?”
O’Hagan:
“I have just recovered them from the apartments of the Grand Duke John!”
High heaven! Never can I forget the shriek of execration that greeted the name of the Grand Duke! We seemed, in a moment, to be surrounded by fiends of the uttermost darkness. They mowed and gibbered like animal things. Only the dark young fellow retained any self-control—sinking back upon his chair and biting his lip. But his eyes were glad; and by his eyes it was that I knew him for Leo.
“Silence!” came the mighty voice again. And the terrible old man glared about him, quelling his unruly compatriots like a pack of dogs. “Hand me those letters, monsieur.”
O’Hagan, amid another throbbing stillness, produced the package.
“Am I addressing,” he inquired, “the gentleman known as the President?”
“I am the President, monsieur,” he was answered.
My friend passed the package to the old man. Rapidly, the latter broke the seals and examined the contents. Intense expectancy was written upon every face. It seemed that life or death hung upon the result of his examination. This, however was brief. Placing the bundle upon the table before him—