“All this is owing to those confounded spies! Here, in Paris, nothing can be conducted fairly and above-board. I really don’t know, Ingram, what will be the outcome.”
“Do you consider the situation so very critical, then?” I asked.
“Critical? I certainly do. It is more than critical. With this scurrilous Press against us, popular feeling so extremely antagonistic towards England, and the difficulties in the Transvaal, only a single spark is required to produce an explosion. You know what that would mean?”
“The long-predicted European war?”
He nodded, and his grey face grew greyer. I had never seen him more gloomy than at that moment. While we were talking, Harding rapped at the door and asked:
“Will Your Excellency see Mr Grew?”
The Ambassador turned quickly, exchanged a glance with me, and answered at once in the affirmative. For two persons His Excellency was at all times unengaged—for Kaye and for his trusted assistant, Samuel Grew.
A few moments later a rather under-sized, bald-headed, gentlemanly little man entered and seated himself, at the Chief’s invitation. He was well-dressed, round-faced, with longish grey whiskers, and in his manner was the air of a thorough cosmopolitan, with just a trifle of the bon viveur.
“Well, Grew,” inquired His Excellency, “anything fresh?”
“I have come to report to Your Excellency upon my visit to Ceuta.”