“Well?” asked Ghelardi, with a sinister smile.
“All I desire to say is that I have the ear of His Majesty as well as yourself. And what I shall tell him will not be to your credit.”
The countenance of the Chief of the Secret Service broadened into a smile of open derision. In his high official position he was all-powerful in Italy—more powerful indeed than the whole Cabinet of Ministers.
“Neither will it be to your credit when I describe to the King what I have witnessed to-night,” he answered.
The Englishman had it upon the tip of his tongue to speak more openly, but on reflection realised that it would be more judicious to keep the information to himself. Jerningham knew that man who had been England’s arch-enemy while in the pay of his masters at Berlin; he had cause to know him—and well, too.
“Signor Ghelardi,” he said finally, “this matter is one of give and take. I offer you terms for your silence. If you refuse, then I shall act as I think fit.”
“Act just as you think fit,” was the Italian’s sneering response.
“Very well,” replied the diplomat, turning and walking up the corridor back to the ballroom.
Half an hour later he met His Majesty face to face.
“Ah, Signor Waldron, you are back again in Rome—eh?” the King exclaimed anxiously. “Well—anything to tell me?” he asked, dropping his voice.