At the Eastern Telegraph Building Wendell stopped in the office on the first floor long enough to write this despatch:
To the telegraph agent, Tripoli, Syria.—The New York Intelligence will pay the telegraph tolls and £200 ($1000) for two thousand words full describing the Victoria disaster. Send at once to Wendell, London.
Then he went up stairs, straight to the general manager. That important person read the despatch with increasing derision, which he did not take the trouble to conceal.
"The rate from Tripoli to London is a shilling a word," he said. "Two thousand words will cost you a hundred pounds, five hundred dollars. The operator or agent at Tripoli is an ignorant Turk, who, without doubt, knows not a word of English. Tripoli is on the Turkish government lines, and we cannot send the money to him to pay for the despatch. He never heard of the New York Intelligence. You practically ask him to spend a hundred pounds with no prospect of ever seeing it again."
"Very true," said Wendell, and he took the despatch and added to it. "Will start money as soon as despatch is received." Then he gave it back to the manager, saying: "No harm to try. If I fail, I shall be out only the eleven dollars this telegram will cost me. If I win—"
He laughed, and the manager relented. "I'll mark it so that it shall be rushed through, and I'll add my own guarantee," he said, with abrupt courtesy. "As soon as an answer comes, if an answer does come, I'll see that you get it."
Wendell thanked him, and went away with Carter. He spent the rest of the day getting and sending all he could find bearing in any way upon the disaster. All England was waiting for the fuller news. The Admiralty and the Foreign Office were besieged by crowds of those who had relatives or friends in the fleet. But no further news came. The Saturday morning papers had nothing but rumors. Even the long reach of the Times could not get at that obscure Syrian village.
Wendell watched impatiently for the early editions of the Saturday afternoon papers. There was still no story. The whole civilized world was waiting. Carter was despondent over the failure of Wendell's scheme, and Wendell had almost ceased to hope. The Sunday morning papers had nothing. Sunday afternoon came a telegram in an Eastern Telegraph envelope. Wendell's hands trembled as he read:
Tripoli, Syria.—Send soon as can raise money. Old subscriber Intelligence.