Читать книгу Ride With Me - Thomas B. Costain - Страница 8

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As they started off, the runner squinted up at his employer. “Is Boney coming over at last, sahib?”

“It looks like it.”

Topp shook his head with an air of deep satisfaction. “It’ll be the very best thing in the world if he does, sahib. It’ll end the suspense, like. For more’n ten years we’ve been a-worrying and a-palpitaking and a-agitaking, and none on us has settled down to anything. Take the case of my own fambly, sahib. I got four brothers and the i-den-tikal number o’ brother-in-laws. Not a one on ’em cares if he has a job or lays by a slat or two for a wet day. Nah, nah, not them. ‘What the banging hell,’ they says, ‘Boney’ll be over and take it away from us.’ So all they ever does is play voles or they tries on the hook and snivy game with the taverns, or mostly they sits around on their fat double juggs and drinks all the max they can get their hands on.” He nodded his head emphatically. “Won’t be no one settling down to honest work until it’s over and done with, one way or t’other. So I says, let ’im come! Let’s have it out with the perishing Frenchie!”

“There’s a lot in what you say, Topp. I suspect most of us have been marking time, waiting for the war to be over.”

The runner had been correct in his surmise as to where Wilson could be found. Frank pulled the bell above a shiny brass plate with the name Bosville, and a maidservant, with a mop in her hand, answered promptly. “I don’t know nothing ’bout Sir Robert,” she said in answer to his query, “but her ledyship might see ye, sir.”

Frank followed her inside, leaving Topp to loiter by the area steps and exchange pleasantries with a footman who was washing windows on the opposite side of the street. After a wait of several minutes in a small room with a black and fireless grate, a pretty young woman came into the room. She was feeling her way with a cane, and he realized with a sense of shock that she was blind.

“I am Lady Wilson.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Lady Wilson, but I have an urgent need for a few words with Sir Robert. I’m Francis Ellery, publisher of the Tablet.”

“The newspaper?” She shook her head helplessly. “Oh dear. I don’t know what to say. This is most upsetting.”

“I happened to learn by an unusual chance that Sir Robert had arrived back in London.”

Lady Wilson seemed completely perplexed. “It’s not to get in the newspapers. It would be a very serious matter if anything were printed about it. I don’t see how you could have heard, sir. Only one man has seen him.”

“Mr. Canning.”

“Then you do know.” She smiled with relief. “Yes, my husband returned last night, or perhaps I should say this morning. He’s sleeping now. He hadn’t slept for two nights, except for little snatches, and he could barely stand up when he reached here.” She stopped, assailed again by doubts. “I don’t know. I’m afraid it’s wrong to tell you anything about it.”

“You have my solemn promise, Lady Wilson, that I’ll not repeat anything you tell me until it’s proper to do so. I promise that nothing will be printed in the Tablet until I have sanction for it.”

“In that case I’m sure it’s all right. Do you want to see my husband when he wakens?”

“It’s my hope he’ll give me a few minutes then.”

“I’ll send for you when he gets up. I hope it won’t be for a long time, Mr. Ellery. He needs all the sleep he can get, poor boy.”

“It won’t be necessary to send for me. I’ll leave my man outside, and he can carry the message. It’s clear Sir Robert lost no time in getting back home.”

Lady Wilson’s face lighted up. “He’s done a remarkable thing, Mr. Ellery,” she said. “I must tell you. You know he’s here anyway; and I confess I’m fairly bursting to talk about it. But it’s too cold in this room. I think we had better go to the library.”

She led the way from the room, walking with a light and assured step and making very little use of the cane. After traversing a long and very cold hall they came to a dark apartment with books covering the walls from floor to ceiling and a fire snapping in a marble fireplace. Lady Wilson seated herself in front of the fire and motioned Frank to another chair. “Russia has declared war on us. The Tsar’s ministers—it couldn’t have been the Tsar himself, he’s such a great gentleman—didn’t send the notice to our embassy until Russian couriers had been three days on the road with the news. My husband says they did it so all Russian ships would have time to get out of ports where they might be captured. Our Ambassador in Russia asked Sir Robert if he would undertake to bring the word home, and of course he said he would. It had been snowing heavily—he says it was drifted up to the window sills when he and Lord Gower were talking—and it was bitterly cold. He started at once.”

“I can imagine what it was like,” said Frank. “I spent some time in St. Petersburg one winter.”

“I’m sure he never stopped for a moment. He rode across Russia to the Baltic, and there he hired a boat to cross the sea to Sweden. There was a terrible storm, and they had to keep putting in at small islands. The crew didn’t want to go on, but Sir Robert forced them to. He had to bully them into it, he says. They reached Stockholm before the Tsar’s couriers got there, even with their three days’ start.”

“He seems to have lived up to his name. You know, of course, that he’s sometimes called Riding Bobby.”

Lady Wilson smiled. “Yes, and he was certainly Riding Bobby this time. Sweden is still friendly to us, and he persuaded the government to put an embargo on all shipping; so the Russian ships there didn’t get away. But they let him take an English ship out. They landed at Newcastle to save time, and Sir Robert rode all the way to London. He knew that every hour counted. A meeting of the cabinet was held at five o’clock this morning. And,” she added proudly, “I guess the Tsar’s messengers are still plodding their way across Europe with the news.”

Frank was thinking, “What a story! I must manage to publish it before the rest somehow.” He said aloud: “It was a great feat, Lady Wilson. Sir Robert will be more of a hero than ever to the people of England when they hear about it. I hope he’ll be disposed to give me all the details so I can tell it in the Tablet as it should be told.”

“Oh, I hope so!” She leaned forward eagerly. “He needs all the credit he can get. My husband is one of the finest soldiers in the world, but—well, they don’t seem to like him at the Horse Guards. He’s never given a chance. Do you know why?”

Frank said, “I know he published a pamphlet criticizing the army and that it wasn’t very well received.”

A smile crinkled around her eyes. “He told them the truth for once. No, they didn’t like it. They gave him a terrible wigging and told him he might as well sell his commission. We were snubbed by everyone after that. He didn’t sell. That’s not Bobby’s way. He swallowed all the insults and hung on. That was nine years ago; but they’ve never forgotten it.”

“They’ll have to recognize what he’s done for us this time.”

She was silent for several moments. Then she said, with a doubtful shake of her head: “I’m not sure. Sometimes I think it will always be the same. He has powerful friends, too, and we hear things that make us believe he’s to get a good command at last. But something always comes up to block it. Instead they send him off on little missions where they think he’ll be out of the way.” She broke into a sudden smile. “Every time they do it he finds a chance like this. They can’t keep him down, Mr. Ellery.”

“I’ve heard it said that Mr. Canning is well disposed toward him.”

She nodded her head eagerly. “Oh yes, he’s been a good friend to Bobby. He insisted on sending him to Russia to see if his influence with the Tsar would help. It may sound like boasting, but my husband is one of the Tsar’s best friends. They met after Napoleon had beaten the Prussians so badly, and the Tsar seemed to like him very much. They dined together alone several times, and Alexander talked to him as though they were equals. Bobby says the Tsar is a really great man and that he wants peace more than anything else. But he fell under the influence of Napoleon, and our government as usual was very stupid and stiff about it. And so this happens.”

Frank got to his feet. “You’ve been more than kind, and I want to repeat my promise that I’ll make no use of what you’ve told me until I have your husband’s consent. My man will remain handy. I’ll be more than ever in your debt if you’ll send word by him as soon as Sir Robert is ready to see me.”

He contented himself with a cold dinner in his office that evening, having no stomach for further discussion with his mother and being anxious as well to act immediately when Topp returned. He dismissed old Clayhorn sharply when the latter tried to unload a two days’ accumulation of grievances on him. Even Cope got a brief hearing when he dropped in to go over the news of the day.

“Use your own judgment, Copey,” said Frank. “I’m busy tonight.”

“You’re brimming over with something.” The assistant editor eyed him suspiciously. “What’s in the wind, Frank?”

“I may have a story this evening which will set the whole country talking. That’s all I can say now. I’m under promise to keep a still tongue in the meantime.”

Cope said grumblingly: “Whatever it is you’ve got, I’ve something to tell you of infinitely greater importance. That man Koenig was in again.”

“I’ve no time to hear about him.”

“You’re being very blind about this, I must say. He’s sure now that he’s found the way to print on a flat bed with a revolving cylinder. Do you realize what that means?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Then I’ll tell you. You’re not too damned busy to hear this. It means a revolution in the making of newspapers. It means that in time it will be possible to print by the thousands on a single press. It means that everyone in the world will be reading newspapers. This is how it works. The tympan moves the sheet forward, and then it’s gripped by a frisket—”

“That’s all Greek to me. For God’s sake, Copey——”

Cope, who was wearing a bottle-green coat and a large silver tinder plate in place of a watch fob, leaned on the desk. He was unwilling to drop the subject. “Frank, Frank! Have you no sense of perspective? This fabulous story of yours may seem important tonight. I’m trying to tell you something that will play a part in men’s lives centuries after Napoleon has become a legend. Can’t you see how completely these fast presses will change the whole world?”

Another pressing matter came into Frank’s mind. “What about Benjie Fuller? Have you any word?”

“The death warrant hasn’t been signed. Old Nobs has gone under a cloud again, and there’s a pile of unsigned state papers on his desk. No one can say when he’ll get around to it. I’ve arranged it so we’ll hear at once if he should sign.”

“Have the facts been laid before the Home Secretary yet?”

“Stemper has talked two good friends of ours in the House into seeing him. The appointment’s for Friday.”

“That’s something. I wrote a dozen letters to men of prominence this afternoon. Do you think we’re doing all we can?”

“I can’t think of anything else. Trutnall is on the case and will have a story for the paper soon. I told him to pitch in strong and have no regard for the tear ducts of our readers.”

“Poor Benjie! I suppose you’ve arranged to let him know we’re doing all we can. Have you sent in food for him?”

“All attended to, Frank.”

Topp returned at nine o’clock. It was clear that he had spent his period of waiting in the nearest tavern. “Ye’re to go back at oncet, sahib,” he said in a thoroughly mellow tone. “The maid said as how Riding Bobby had wakened up and was a-settling into his vittles as though he hadn’t had a bite o’ food since he left Roosha. He’s ready to see ye as soon as ye can get there.”

Frank left unfinished the letter he had been writing, not waiting even to replace the pen on its silver frame. On his way out, however, he stopped in the doorway of one of the long row of tiny cubicles where the writers for the paper were ensconced. The fireplace had been smoking, and it was hard to make out the occupant bending over his desk.

“Any word about Russia, Gavin?”

The writer, a lean Scotsman, blinked at him through the smoke. “I was at the Furrin Office not later than two hours gone, Muster Ellery,” he said. “They’ve been buzzing there like angry hornets all day long. They insist nothing has happened, but I’m not disposed to tak’ their word on it. There’s a Russian ship, the Specknoi, in port. I heard it was to be seized, but they deny it at the Furrin Office. It’s said, sir, that the vessel carries”—he swallowed hard, as though awed by the magnitude of the sum—“a million pounds in gold specie.”

“Better pay the Office another visit before we close, Gavin.”

“Aye. But they’ll not like it. I’ve been blowing in and out of the place all day like a williwaw, and they’re weary of the sight of me. If you say so, I’ll try them once more, Muster Ellery.”

Arriving at the Bosville house, Frank was ushered into the library. A moment later there was a sound of quick footsteps on the stairs, followed by a loud thud as the last few steps were taken at one bound. The door flew open and a tall man in a blue dressing gown came briskly into the room.

“Mr. Ellery! You wanted to see me.”

Sir Robert Wilson’s voice was as brisk as his manner. With his arrival the room seemed, in fact, to vibrate with energy. Frank felt it at once. There never was a time from then on when the appearance of Riding Bobby did not light everything up for him. If it happened to be in the open, the effect was the same as though the sun had come out from behind a cloud; if indoors, as though a bank of candles had been lighted all at once.

“It’s good of you to see me, Sir Robert. Particularly in view of what you’ve just been through.”

A keen pair of eyes under a thatch of ginger-colored hair studied him intently. “Jemima talked rather too freely,” he said. “Still, I’m not blaming her, not blaming her at all. Now that I’ve had a look at you, I’m inclined to trust to your discretion too.” He motioned his visitor to a chair and took one himself, spreading out his long legs in front of him with an air of great content. “I was well into a bottle of port. We’ll have it down and discuss it between us at the same time we discuss this little business I’ve been through.”

A few minutes later, tilting a glass of port to his lips, Sir Robert said: “The announcement that we’re at war with Russia won’t be made officially until sometime tomorrow afternoon. I’m relying on your promise not to get in ahead of the field.”

“You have it, of course.”

“They would be furious at the War Office, simply furious, if word got out sooner. I confess I’m tempted to rile the old boys by telling you to jump right into print and be damned to them.” He smiled and shook his head. “No, it wouldn’t do, wouldn’t do at all. Our grand moguls of diplomacy and strategy can’t possibly get any angrier at me than they’ve always been. You may not know it, Mr. Ellery, but a solemn disapproval of me and everything I do pervades those dark, silent catacombs. Still, I promised Canning and I must stand by it. I’ll make it up to you by giving you a story, a story that no one else will have, by Gad. That is, if you want it.”

“The hope that you would tell me every detail of that epic ride of yours was what brought me here, Sir Robert.”

“Then here goes. Ellery, are you fond of the use of adjectives? Here’s a chance for you to trot them out in double harness, in tandem style, and in files of four for artillery. I’m not modest, you know, not modest at all.”

Wilson got to his feet and began to pace about the room. He had a habit of turning suddenly and breaking into excited words, advancing toward his listener as he did so. It gave the suggestion that he was charging at his subject. This individual style of narrative suited admirably the story he had to tell. Frank listened spellbound as the tale unwound. He had enough imagination of his own to feel the icy blast of the Russian winds, the drunken slant of sails on a small sloop tossed about in biting gales, the jolt of post horses galloping down the English coast on frozen roads, the intense anxiety in the rider’s mind as to the progress of the rival couriers. He made no notes, confident that not a single detail of the dramatic story could possibly desert his mind.

Wilson came to a full stop in front of his listener. “Well, there you have it. I beat them, by Gad, I beat them. But I’m wondering if it did us any good after all. We’re in a fix today, Mr. Publisher, in a damnably tough, strangling fix. Have you any idea how serious the situation is? Listen to this. Prussia may go in against us as well as Russia. Spain, Portugal, Sweden even, may be forced into the coalition. Austria doesn’t dare make a move, not a move. With his flanks protected, Bonaparte is free for the first time to throw his full power against us. And here we are, standing all alone.”

He paused and then plunged into an even more rapid monologue, his habit of repeating words for emphasis becoming more apparent. “I’ve often criticized Boney. He has his weaknesses—weaknesses of vanity and malice. But he knows how to use his power. God, how he can use his power! I saw him in action in Prussia. He smashed the confident Prussies to ribbons and overran the country in two weeks. In two weeks, Ellery; ripping, tearing, smashing, every minute of the time. I tell you, this scurvy genius has made new rules of warfare. He doesn’t slow up his armies by taking along provision and hospital trains. His men live off the land—that is, if they can; and if they’re wounded or fall out, they’re left to die. It’s fast, brutal, and logical war that he fights. And what has there been against him, against this rushing juggernaut? Armies under old generals who must have their grilled bone and port every night of a campaign; armies as slow and cumbersome as a church picnic wagon.” He threw out his arms in a gesture of despair. “We never learn! We don’t want to learn, that’s the dreadful part of it. If he gets over the channel, he’ll crush us like eggshells!”

“I’m convinced he’s going to try it.”

The soldier looked at his visitor with new respect. “Are you? Are you really? Splendid! Splendid! You’re one of the very few with the sense to think so. Every man I talk to, every damned one of them, says that Trafalgar settled that danger for all time. Trafalgar! We’ve got that word on the brain. They smile so contentedly when they point out he hasn’t tried to build another fleet. At Downing Street they’re ready to wager Pompey’s Pillar to a stick of sealing wax that he won’t try it. The blind fools, the blind, sleeping fools!” He indulged in more pacing and then came back across the room on tense feet. “I’ll make another kind of wager. He’s figuring his chances out to the smallest decimal point. If he sends two thousand barges across the water, how many of them can our navy sink in transit? My guess is five hundred. That might mean that we would drown fifty thousand Frenchmen. They lick their chops over figures like that in the War Office. What do they think they could do against the hundred and fifty thousand he could land? How can we be sure that cold, calculating brain won’t decide to throw fifty thousand Frenchmen away? He may be saying to himself this very minute, ‘It will be worth it if I can capture England and settle this war once and for all.’ Remember, he’s absolute now. As absolute as Genghis Khan was. He wouldn’t have dared risk such a slaughter before. Today he snaps his fingers at public opinion in France.”

The strong frame of the man who had ridden from Russia settled down into a chair. “That’s the situation, sir. How are we going to meet it?”

“By keeping him busy on the Continent,” said Frank. “He’s showing so much interest in Spain that he may decide to gobble that country up first. We must see to it he never gets finished in Spain.”

“And how would you go about it?”

“By sending armies to help fight him in the Peninsula. Large armies, not little landing parties.”

Wilson looked at his guest with a trace of surprise in his eyes. “You’ve taken the words out of my mouth. It’s the only way, the only way. But they don’t think so at the War Office. The Peninsula is perfect for a defensive campaign. Broad, bare moors with nothing for an army to live off, and mountain ranges to hide behind. The Creator made Spain for the purpose, made it so we could beat Boney.” His voice raised to its former excited pitch. “The government must be forced to see it! And, by Gad, you can help with that newspaper of yours. You have a great opportunity today, Ellery, a great opportunity. A sacred duty to perform. Tell the people of England the truth! Din it into their ears.”

Frank felt a tingle of excitement. “I want to do what I can, Sir Robert. But there are difficulties.”

“Wait.” Wilson settled back into his chair. “This thing goes deeper. Much deeper. We can’t send armies to the Peninsula if we’re going to let Farmer George put his boggling, guzzling son in command. That must be made clear. We must have a general in command who knows more about this new warfare than a nacky greengrocer. We can’t let the Duke of York throw our armies away, not this time. There are two good men in the army: Sir Arthur Wellesley and Sir John Moore. I say Wellesley. He’s a cool, steady fellow. His campaigns in India were models in their way. The fellow is cut out for a fight on hot, open country. Yes, I think he would do. Now then, are you prepared to go the whole distance? To tell the King, God bless him, to keep his fumbling fingers out of this pie?”

Frank hesitated. “I’d go the whole distance. But I’m not sure I can even make a start. I said there were difficulties. It’s a matter of the control of the paper. My father left the stock in ten parts. My mother was willed two shares. Each of my brothers and I were given one share and the right to purchase another. I’ve already purchased my second. The other two are held separately, one by an aunt I can depend on, the other by a former business manager. My youngest brother is in India, so only seven shares can be voted. There would be four against me at the start.”

Wilson said impatiently: “The matter of a will can’t be allowed to stand in the way. Let me talk to your mother about this. I have a way with women, quite a way. I think I could convince her.”

“Not my mother,” said Frank with a smile. “It would be wasted effort, I assure you.”

Wilson frowned abstractedly. “Something might be done about the old fellow. We might even abduct him before the meeting.”

“That would leave us in a tie. The will provides that any change in policy must be decided by majority vote.”

“Your brother, then?”

“He’s in Parliament and committed to the administration. No chance there.”

“Come, come, Ellery, we mustn’t give in as easy as this.” Wilson’s eyes began to light up. “We might abduct both men. You don’t think I mean it? I assure you I’m ready to carry off your mother as well. I wouldn’t boggle at that in a good cause. My young friend, we’ll find a way out between us. It was the hand of Providence which directed your man to the spot where he saw me this morning. We were fated to come together—for the good of our country.”

The serving maid put her head in the door and said: “A gem’man to see you, Master Sir Robert. A furrin-looking gem’man. I can’t get my tongue to his name, master.”

Wilson frowned. “What does he look like, Flossie?”

The maid rubbed a hand around her cheeks and said: “All around here and here, Master Sir Robert, he’s a sort of funny color. He don’t look nat’ral at all.”

The soldier laughed. “I think it must be Dumouriez.”

Dumouriez! Frank sat up in his chair at this. He had studied the campaigns of Charles François Dumouriez with great care and believed him to be a man of unusual military capacity. It was unfortunate that he was French and, in a sense, a renegade.

“That’s it, master. He looks a deal like a h’undertaker.”

“Now I wonder how the old war horse heard I was back?” Wilson turned to Frank to ask, “Do you know Dumouriez?”

Frank shook his head. He had never seen the victorious General of the French Revolutionary armies who had turned his coat during the Terror and finally come to England for sanctuary. The motives for the change were easy enough to understand, the Revolutionary leaders having displayed a tendency to send even their most successful captains to the guillotine, but Dumouriez had never been entirely welcome in England. The British Government paid him a pension, in return for which he drew up and submitted to them a succession of detailed plans for the overthrow of Napoleon; all of which were promptly pigeonholed and forgotten.

“Send him in,” said Sir Robert.

The squat and aging man in dingy brown, whose face looked almost purple in the dim light of the candles, bowed to Wilson and then blinked at the newspaperman.

“Mr. Ellery, of the Tablet,” said Wilson. “I’ll have in another bottle, my old fire-eater, and we’ll drink, hopefully but not at all confidently, to lack of success in a certain quarter.”

The Frenchman bowed elaborately to Frank and then slumped down into a chair. He allowed his head to droop slightly and his hands to dangle over the sides of the chair, a perfect picture of dejection.

“I’ll drink the toast,” he croaked, “but only because it has been a long walk and I am devilish thirsty, Sir Ro-bert. Napoleon will never be beaten now, never! My third plan, drawn up in the fullest detail and offered to your army heads with the strongest letter I could pen, would do it. But has it been opened, even, by those zealous guardians of your country’s safety? I doubt it. If you don’t mind, Sir Ro-bert, I would prefer to drink your health. After what has happened, it seems more fitting than the other.”

Wilson laughed. “Will you tell me, m’sieur, how you happened to hear of my return? It’s supposed to be a deep secret still.”

“I hear everything.” The expatriate sighed. “It does me no good. I have no way of making use of what I hear and what I know. I am, as you say, on the shelves.”

The maid returned a second time. “Another gem’man, Master Sir Robert.” She seemed very much impressed. “He’s in a h’unifoam. Sir Arthur Wess-essley.”

Wilson looked amazed. “Wellesley!” he said to his guests. “The news of my return seems to be getting around. Well, I must say it’s handsome of Sir Arthur to pay me a visit so soon.”

Frank was thinking how fortunate in every respect this visit was turning out to be. Nothing could have pleased him more than a chance to meet the young general who had been performing such military marvels in India. Nevertheless he looked at his host and asked in a whisper, “Do you want me to go?” Wilson shook his head in an emphatic negative. “Stay, by all means. You ought to hear what’s said.”

The new arrival looked even younger than his bare forty years, in spite of the air of dignity that sat on his plainly cloaked shoulders. He had a bold beak of a nose and an icy blue eye which surveyed the two other guests with doubt and even disapproval.

“Ha, Sir Robert,” he said. “They tell me you’ve been riding again. You seem to have done us a good turn this time. I dropped in to congratulate you.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it, Sir Arthur. You know General Dumouriez, of course.”

An even frostier gleam showed in the cool eyes of the army’s youngest, and most successful, general. “Of course,” he said gruffly.

“And this is Mr. Ellery, of the Tablet.”

“A newspaper writer?” Wellesley looked alarmed. “I trust, Wilson, you’ve been discreet. It would be damned awkward for us if——”

“Ellery knows what’s in the wind, but I have his promise that nothing will be printed before the proper sanction is given.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Wilson. I’m very much relieved.” He drew his host aside and whispered in his ear. Frank caught one word only, the name of the Russian ship. Wilson nodded his head eagerly and seemed very much pleased with the news, whatever it was. He led the newcomer to a seat by the fire, winking cautiously at Frank over his shoulder.

“A glass of port? I’ll send for some biscuits. We seem to be doing things rather better than back in ’94 when our paths first crossed, Sir Arthur.”

Wellesley sat down in front of the fire, swinging one trim shank over the other. The tilt of his high-arched nose suggested that he found some offense in the presence of Charles François Dumouriez, and he kept his eyes fixed stonily on that morose individual. “Rather,” he said. He leaned over and clapped his host on the knee. “That was a damned bad mess, Wilson. We were lucky to get out of it with our lives. I didn’t expect to.” He threw back his head in a sudden and high-pitched laugh. “I thought once there that I was going to be called on to sit in a court-martial on you, young Sir Robert. If that raid you and Calcraft made on Pichegru’s headquarters hadn’t turned out so damned well, by Gad, the pair of you would have been called to account for moving without orders. You were devilish lucky that none of your men were lost.”

There was a moment’s silence, and then Wilson said, “I’m sure we all agree on what’s necessary to be done now.”

“Can there be any question?” demanded Dumouriez.

“There’s no doubt in my mind,” declared Wilson. “We must land an army in the north of Portugal without a moment’s delay. Or at Corunna.”

“No, no! Never at Corunna. Junot has dropped back. He’s at Lisbon, the great fool.”

Wellesley looked as though he had something to say on the subject but was constrained by the presence of a fourth party who happened to be a writer for the press. His caution melted, however, as the talk flowed on. He expressed himself in agreement with the need for an immediate move into the Peninsula and even paid Dumouriez the compliment of listening to his views. The three minds seemed to meet perfectly on most phases of the situation, each of them contributing something particular to the discussion. The daring of Wilson and the ingenuity of the Frenchman supplemented the cold and practical logic of Wellesley. Frank listened with the greatest eagerness.

He stayed as long as he dared and then got to his feet. “I must go now, Sir Robert,” he said. He bowed to the two generals, who were deeper still in points of strategy. “I appreciate the great privilege this has been. Good evening, gentlemen.”

Wellesley looked up briefly to say, “Ah, yes, good evening, sir,” but Dumouriez did not even turn his head. As Frank left the room he heard the former say, “If we can whip the Spaniards into line, which is very doubtful, by Gad——”

Wilson escorted him to the hall. “The Specknoi has been taken,” he said. “So far we have the Rusky-muskies on the hip. I’ve done that much, at any rate.” His eyes were full of the excitement of great plans. “I hope all this talk has had the effect of strengthening your resolution. Those two in there haven’t any idea of the help the press can give us. But I see it so clearly. We can’t bring the dull plodders in the cabinet around to this without the pressure of public opinion. That’s going to be your share, Ellery. Don’t fail us.”

“I’d much prefer,” said Frank, “to have a share in the fighting at the front. That’s impossible, but I’m afraid I would be a poor instrument for what you suggest.”

Wilson ran a quick hand through the long lock on his forehead. “I’m a fair judge of men, I think. You can do it. I’m certain of that.”