Towards four o'clock the answer to the wire came, but in a form so unlooked for and so terrible that even Westerham was for a time unnerved.
It came not in the shape of a telegram, but in the form of a small square cardboard box, neatly wrapped in brown paper and addressed to the Prime Minister.
It was brought by a District Messenger boy, who, in response to inquiries whence the package came, could only say that it had been handed in at the Oxford Street office by a gentleman of distinctly foreign appearance.
Though the parcel was addressed to Lord Penshurst, Westerham took it from the attendant and with his own hands laid it carefully and softly down on the Premier's table.
For a moment Westerham looked reflectively at the Prime Minister. “I wonder,” he said slowly, “if this parcel comes from Melun?”
Lord Penshurst was all eagerness. “Let's open it at once and see,” he said.
But Westerham pushed the Prime Minister's hands away from the package.
“Leave it alone,” he said, “we don't know what it may contain.”
Lord Penshurst glanced at him sharply. “Good Heavens!” he cried, “you don't mean to tell me that you think Melun would dare to send me a bomb or something of that sort?”