“Damnation!” cried the man. “I could stand the loss of the money, but the loss of those papers wellnigh ruined me!”
“How so?”
“I was carrying some secret despatches to the British Government, in spite of the war, and your blundering made me fail in my mission.”
“Blundering!” I cried.
“Pray be calm, Monsieur,” he exclaimed; “the word may have been ill-advised, but you will recognize that some consideration is due me.”
He looked meaningly at the little pile of notes. I followed his glance, snatched up another piece of paper, scribbled a line on it and added it to the heap.
“That covers your loss, including the ring.”
“Monsieur Burnham,” said the Marquis, “are you aware of the exceedingly difficult position into which you have got yourself?”
“I should say I am! Being absolutely without funds, I am forced to ask total strangers to accept my bare word that I will discharge my obligations so soon as I hear from America. This, with the seas swarming with British ships, may be a matter of months.”
“There is your Ambassador. He knows you, doubtless?”