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Chapter 33

           Therewasnothingtoreadinthem—forthoughalltheworld’snewspalpitatesintoGreatBritainonobedientlythrobbingelectricwires,eacheditorofeachlittlepennyworth,beingjealousofeveryothereditorofeveryotherpennyworth,onlyadmitsintohiscolumnsexactlywhatsuitshispoliticsorpersonallypleaseshistaste,andtheinterestsofthepublicatlargearescarcelyconsidered.Poor,bamboozled,patientpublic!—nowonderitisbeginningtothinkthatahalfpennyspentonanewspaperwhichisonlypurchasedtobethrownaway,enoughandmorethanenough.IwasstillglancingupanddownthetediouscolumnsoftheAmericanizedPallMallGazette,andLuciowasstillwriting,whenapage-boyenteredwithatelegram.

           "MrTempest?"

           "Yes."AndIsnatchedtheyellow-coveredmissiveandtoreitopen—andreadthefewwordsitcontainedalmostuncomprehendingly.Theyranthus—

           "RETURNATONCE.SOMETHINGALARMINGHASHAPPENED.AFRAIDTOACTWITHOUTYOU.MAVISCLARE."

           Acuriouschillcameoverme—thetelegramfellfrommyhandsonthetable.Luciotookitupandglancedatit.Then,regardingmestedfastly,hesaid—

           "Ofcourseyoumustgo.Youcancatchthefour-fortytrainifyoutakeahansom."

           "Andyou?"Imuttered.MythroatwasdryandIcouldscarcelyspeak.

           "I’llstayattheGrand,andwaitfornews.

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