In our present century war breaks out; it is not declared. And war in Europe may break out at any moment, even though much is said of the solidity of the Triple Alliance.
On arrival at the great echoing station at Rome, Hubert descended, tired and fagged, and took a taxi home.
It was then nine o’clock in the morning, and Peters, surprised to see him, handed him a letter which had been left on the previous night. On opening it he found it was from Ghelardi, dated from the Bureau of Secret Police, and asking when he could see him.
At this request he was somewhat surprised in view of what had already passed between them, nevertheless he spoke to the functionary on the telephone at his private house and at eleven o’clock entered his private room at the Ministry.
Their greeting was the reverse of cordial. Indeed Hubert had at first hesitated to meet him at all, yet he thought that the object of the interview might concern the unfortunate incident in the Palace; hence he went, determined to still show a bold front.
“I regret, Signor Waldron, to have disturbed you,” the crafty old man said when his visitor was seated. “But it has been reported to me that the other night you were attacked by two individuals, and that you narrowly escaped with your life—that you shot and wounded both your assailants.”
The policeman had, notwithstanding the bribe, evidently made a report in order to show his watchfulness to his superior. Hubert frowned in annoyance.
“Oh, it was nothing at all,” he declared, laughing. “I had quite forgotten all about it. They were merely footpads, I suppose. No further notice need be taken of them.”
“Ah! but they are very dangerous characters, and well-known in Rome,” he said. Then, looking straight at him the old man with the bristly hair said in a curious, half-suspicious voice: “You appear, Signor Waldron, to have some rather bitter enemies in Rome—eh?”
“I was not aware of it,” answered the diplomat. “If I have it does not trouble me in the least. I am perfectly able to defend myself.”