His eyes were dull; they lacked their wonted shiftiness. He gazed at
the reporter unblinkingly, as though thought itself refused to act.
"Is that the lot?" he inquired mechanically.
"Nearly all, at present. These cablegrams reached us through London,
and the agency took the earliest measures to substantiate their
accuracy. The Brazilian Embassy pooh-poohs the whole story, but
Embassies invariably do that until the news is stale. By their own
showing, Ambassadors are singularly ill-informed men, especially in
matters affecting their own countries. Here, however, is a short
telegram from Paris which is of minor interest."
And Verity read again:
"PARIS, September 6th. The members of Dom Corria De Sylva's family,
seen early this morning at the Hotel Continental, deny that any lady
connected with the cause of Brazilian freedom took part in the
attempted rescue of the ex-President. They are much annoyed by the
unfounded report, and hold strongly to the opinion that the revolution
would now have been a _fait accompli_ had not a traitor revealed the
destination of the _Andros-y-Mela_ and thus led to that vessel's
detention at Bahia."
The lady! Iris Yorke! At last David's supercharged mind was beginning
to assimilate ideas. He was conscious of a fierce pain in the region
of his heart.
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