In a magnificently furnished apartment somewhere in the neighbourhood of Fifth Avenue a small party of men were seated round a card table piled with chips and rolls of bills. On the sideboard there was a great collection of empty bottles, spirit decanters and Vichy syphons.
Mr. Horser was helping himself to brandy and water with one hand and holding himself up with the other. There was a knock at the door.
A man who was still playing looked up. He was about fifty years of age, clean shaven, with vacuous eyes and a weak mouth. He was the host of the party.
"Come in!" he shouted.
A young man entered in a long black overcoat and soft hat. He looked about him without surprise, but he seemed to note Mr.
Horser's presence with some concern. The man at the table threw down his cards.
"What the devil do you want, Smith?"
"An important despatch from Washington has just arrived, sir. I have brought it up with the codebook."
"From Washington at this time of the night," he exclaimed thickly.
"Come in here, Smith."
He raised the curtains leading into a small anteroom, and turned up the electric light. His clerk laid the message down on the table before him.
"Here is the despatch, Mr. Mace," he said, "and here is the translation."
"English Ambassador demands immediate explanation of arrest of Duke Souspennier at Waldorf to-night. Reply immediately what charge and evidence. Souspennier naturalised Englishman."
Mr. Mace sprang to his feet with an oath. He threw aside the curtain which shielded the room from the larger apartment.
"Horser, come here, you damned fool!"
Horser, with a stream of magnificent invectives, obeyed the summons.
His host pointed to the message.
"Read that!"
Mr. Horser read and his face grew even more repulsive. A dull purple flush suffused his cheeks, his eyes were bloodshot, and the veins on his forehead stood out like cords. He leaned for several moments against the table and steadily cursed Mr. Sabin, the government at Washington, and something under his breath which he did not dare to name openly.
"Oh, shut up!" his host said at last. "How the devil are we going to get out of this?"
Mr. Horser left the room and returned with a tumbler full of brandy and a very little water.
"Take a drink yourself," he said. "It'll steady you.
"Oh, I'm steady enough," Mr. Mace replied impatiently. "I want to know how you're going to get us out of this. What was the charge, anyhow?"
"Passing forged bills," Horser answered. "Parsons fixed it up."
Mr. Mace turned a shade paler.
"Where the devil's the sense in a charge like that?" he answered fiercely. "The man's a millionaire. He'll turn the tables on us nicely."
"We've got to keep him till after the Campania sails, anyhow,"
Horser said doggedly.
"We're not going to keep him ten minutes," Mace replied. "I'm going to sign the order for his release."
Horser's speech was thick with drunken fury. "By --- I'll see that you don't!" he exclaimed.
Mace turned upon him angrily.
"You selfish fool!" he muttered. "You're not in the thing, anyhow.
If you think I'm going to risk my position for the sake of one little job you're wrong. I shall go down myself and release him, with an apology."
"He'll have his revenge all the same," Horser answered. "It's too late now to funk the thing. They can't budge you. We'll see to that. We hold New York in our hands. Be a man, Mace, and run a little risk. It's fifty thousand."
Mace looked up at him curiously.
"What do you get out of it, Horser?"
Horser's face hardened.
"Not one cent!" he declared fiercely. "Only if I fail it might be unpleasant for me next time I crossed."
"I don't know!" Mace declared weakly. "I don't know what to do.
It's twelve hours, Horser, and the charge is ridiculous."
"You have me behind you."
"I can't tell them that at Washington," Mace said.
"It's a fact, all the same. Don't be so damned nervous."
Mace dismissed his clerk, and found his other guests, too, on the point of departure. But the last had scarcely left before a servant entered with another despatch.
"Release Souspennier.
Mace handed it to his companion.
"This settles it," he declared. "I shall go round and try and make my peace with the fellow."
Horser stood in the way, burly, half-drunk and vicious. He struck his host in the face with clenched fist. Mace went down with scarcely a groan. A servant, hearing the fall, came hurrying back.
"Your master is drunk and he has fallen down," Horser said. "Put him to bed - give him a sleeping draught if you've got one."
The servant bent over the unconscious man.
"Hadn't I better fetch a doctor, sir?" he asked. "I'm afraid he's hurt."
"Not he!" Horser answered contemptuously. "He's cut his cheek a little, that's all. Put him to bed. Say I shall be round again by nine o'clock."
Horser put on his coat and left the house. The morning sunlight was flooding the streets. Away down town Mr. Sabin was dozing in his high-backed chair.
