Dawson, the British military attaché, conspicuous in his Guards’ uniform, came up to him, saying in a low voice:
“Hallo, Hubert, you look a bit bored, my dear boy. So am I. Couldn’t we clear out, do you think? I’m going to play bridge down at the club. Come?”
“Not to-night, old chap,” Hubert answered. “I shall stay another quarter of an hour, and then toddle home.”
“Sure you won’t—eh?”
“No, not to-night. I’m tired.”
“Right-ho! Good night,” answered the attaché cheerily, and was next moment lost in the crowd. Waldron pushed his way through the throng into the ante-chamber, vainly searching for Lambarini. Pironti, the unscrupulous secretary of the Minister was there, surrounded by women—wives of officers and others who hoped to secure the man’s good graces to procure better appointments for their husbands. In the army it was openly declared that Pironti was necessary in order to secure His Excellency’s ear, and many a man had been passed over his superior’s heads and given lucrative jobs because Pironti’s palm had been crossed by a few bank-notes.
Presently, tired to death of the incessant laughter and chatter, Hubert left by a door which he knew led to a long corridor, which ended with a flight of stairs to the first floor.
On the nights of Ministerial receptions the sentries had orders to allow guests to pass without hindrance and unchallenged throughout the building, therefore, as Hubert ascended the stairs the soldier stood at attention.
Above, was another wide corridor leading right round the first floor to where was situated General Cataldi’s private cabinet in the centre of the huge, handsome pile overlooking the broad Via Venti Settembre.
To that part of the building few of the guests penetrated, save perhaps some officials who took their wives to see the fine suite of rooms occupied by His Excellency the Minister.