to achieve. He had another suggestion to offer. Why shouldn't we
adjourn to his rooms? He had there materials for a dish of his own
invention for which he was famous all along the line of the Royal
Cavalry outposts, and he would cook it for us. There were also a
few bottles of some white wine, quite possible, which we could
drink out of Venetian cut-glass goblets. A bivouac feast, in fact.
And he wouldn't turn us out in the small hours. Not he. He
couldn't sleep.

Need I say I was fascinated by the idea? Well, yes. But somehow I
hesitated and looked towards Mills, so much my senior. He got up
without a word. This was decisive; for no obscure premonition, and
of something indefinite at that, could stand against the example of
his tranquil personality.



CHAPTER II



The street in which Mr. Blunt lived presented itself to our eyes,
narrow, silent, empty, and dark, but with enough gas-lamps in it to
disclose its most striking feature: a quantity of flag-poles
sticking out above many of its closed portals. It was the street
of Consuls and I remarked to Mr. Blunt that coming out in the
morning he could survey the flags of all nations almost--except his
own. (The U. S. consulate was on the other side of the town.) He
mumbled through his teeth that he took good care to keep clear of
his own consulate.