“Montebruno must be stopped,” declared Dubard determinedly after a pause. “Let us telephone to him to come here.”
“He is already down at the Camera,” said the Under-Secretary, glancing at the little French timepiece on the mantelshelf. “The question is to be put at five, and it is already half-past four.”
“But it shall not be put!” cried the young man.
“Who will prevent it?” inquired Borselli, looking at him defiantly.
“I will,” he said sternly. “Let us be quite plain and outspoken, my dear Angelo. I tell you that you shall not imperil the future by this premature action. Morini knows of the conspiracy against him, and is prepared.”
“Well—and if he is? What then?”
“He may seek to defend himself in a manner of which you little dream.”
Borselli regarded his companion suspiciously, for he saw that he was in possession of some information which he was keeping to himself.
“You know something,” he said, fixing his dark eyes upon Dubard. “What is it?”
“I only know that it would be most injudicious to make any revelations, or to stir up the public indignation at the present moment,” was the response. “There is no time to lose. You must telephone at once to Montebruno and stop him.”