"Not a word, so far as I have heard."
"Strange. Why should he conceal the matter?"
"He might think that he would be suspected."
"True, true. That is well spoken, Wratslav. But yet he knows a little too much, does he not?"
"A great deal too much, Excellency."
"There is no certainty that he does not know also who the lady is."
"He goes to see her, Excellency."
The ivory knife swayed delicately, rhythmically, in the mobile fingers, then was still. The Minister spoke deliberately.
"It would be well if he did not go again--did not speak to her again for that matter--" The heavy lids flickered for an instant as His Excellency flashed one look of keen intent towards his hearer as though to emphasize the portent of his words. Then the smooth voice continued, "if it could be arranged."
"It can be arranged, Excellency."
"I thought so." Again the keen look. Then the Minister leaned back in his chair, revolving it slightly that his arm might rest more comfortably on the desk.
"Excellency?" Wratslav spoke with some anxiety.
"Yes?"
"Unfortunately, the Englishman is a person of some consequence in his own country."
"Indeed? One Griffin, is he not?"
"His brother is dead. He died last week. The Englishman is now Baron Griffin."
The fingers tightened around the ivory knife.
"That," the Minister's voice became softer and even more velvety, "that is unfortunate." There was silence again. The knife was laid down, and the fingers moved slowly, heavily, on the desk. "Still, I think, Wratslav, that Ivan should continue to work on the railroad--and you also--while the excellent shooting continues near--ah--the camp. It seems best."
The telephone on the desk tinkled. His Excellency picked up the receiver.
"Yes, someone will come down."
He hung up the receiver and turned to Wratslav.
"There is a telegram downstairs. Go down and get it and bring it here. Hurry."
The secretary was back in a few moments with the envelope, which he handed to the Minister, who cut it open and read the message. The ivory knife snapped in the tense grip; His Excellency looked idly at the pieces, but never a line of his face moved.
"Matters are a trifle more complicated, Wratslav. We must think again." He handed the telegram to his assistant. It read: "A British subject presents his compliments to Your Excellency, and begs to assure you that the statement which he has written and sent under seal to the British Ambassador in Washington will not be opened or its contents made known to anyone except in the event of the sudden demise of Baron Griffin or James Saunders."