Then tragedy broke into the room, tragedy in the shape of a man demented. For fifteen years Bellamy had known Arthur Dorward, but this man was surely a stranger! He was hatless, dishevelled, wild. A dull streak of color had mounted almost to his forehead, his eyes were on fire.
Words failed him suddenly. He leaned against the table, breathless, panting heavily.
“Alone!” Dorward interrupted. “I must see you alone! I have news!”
Mademoiselle Idiale rose. She touched Bellamy on the shoulder.
“You will come to me, or telephone,” she whispered. “So?”
Bellamy opened the door and she passed out, with a farewell pressure of his fingers. Then he closed it firmly and came back.
“What’s wrong, old man?” Bellamy asked quickly.
Dorward from a side table had seized the bottle of whiskey and a siphon, and was mixing himself a drink with trembling fingers. He tossed it off before he spoke a word. Then he turned around and faced his companion. “Bellamy,” he ordered, “lock the door.”
Bellamy obeyed. He had no doubt now but that Dorward had lost his head in the Chancellor’s presence—had made some absurd attempt to gain the knowledge which they both craved, and had failed.
“Bellamy,” Dorward exclaimed, speaking hoarsely and still a little out of breath, “I guess I’ve had the biggest slice of luck that was ever dealt out to a human being. If only I can get safe out of this city, I tell you I’ve got the greatest scoop that living man ever handled.”
Dorward wiped his forehead and interrupted.
“It’s the most amazing thing that ever happened,” he declared, “but I’ve got it here in my pocket, got it in black and white, in the Chancellor’s own handwriting.”
“Why, what you and I, an hour ago, would have given a million for,” Dorward replied.
Bellamy’s expression was one of blank but wondering incredulity.
“You can’t mean this, Dorward!” he exclaimed. “You may have something—just what the Chancellor wants you to print. You’re not supposing for an instant that you’ve got the whole truth?”
Dorward’s smile was the smile of certainty, his face that of a conqueror.
“Here in my pocket,” he declared, striking his chest, “in the Chancellor’s own handwriting. I tell you I’ve got the original verbatim copy of everything that passed and was resolved upon this afternoon between the Czar of Russia, the Emperor of Austria and the Emperor of Germany. I’ve got it word for word as the Chancellor took it down. I’ve got their decision. I’ve got their several undertakings.”