“I don’t believe you are in a funk, that’s the worst of it, for if you were you wouldn’t say that,” said Sir Egerton irritably. “You have got some maggot into your head, and I don’t believe you are responsible for your words. Try to be reasonable for a moment. Would Drakovics—even if he hates you to the extent you imagine—be likely to invite annihilation from Europe by attacking the Legation?”
“No; but before this he has made use of the mob to execute his plans, and left them to take the consequences. Stratford, what was that?” and Cyril seized his friend’s arm, and pointed to the window-curtain.
“Only the cat,” was the answer, given with deep disgust, when Sir Egerton had shaken the curtain vigorously, thereby dislodging the animal, which was ensconced in the folds. “Stop this sort of thing, Mortimer. You will make me quite creepy presently. Would you like to know what I am going to do? I am going straight off to fetch Dr Simcox, to make him certify you a lunatic; then I shall remove you to the Legation. No one could object to my receiving you there in your present state, and when you are a little better, I shall pack you off home, with one of the staff to look after you.”
“You would let yourself in for all kinds of complications. No, Stratford; I see one way in which you could help me, if you really are ready to do so, but I could not dare to ask it.”
“Oh, go on. I can see that it has made you more cheerful even to think of it.”
“I want you to get me out of the city.”
“But good gracious, man, who is keeping you in it? I am sure Drakovics would be only too delighted if you went. Go this moment.”
“And be attacked and murdered in the streets, even supposing that I could succeed in crossing my own threshold safely?”
“What in the world are you driving at?”
“Do you mean to say that you do not see why the police are placed at my door? They are to prevent my leaving the house; or if I should succeed in doing so, to follow me out and stir up the people, who don’t need much stirring up just now, to finish me off.”