Of what avail was it?
Word came from Berlin and you were powerless." Then tragedy broke into the room, tragedy in the shape of a man demented.

For fifteen years Bellamy had known Arthur Dorward, but this man was surely a stranger! He was hatless, dishevelled, wild.
A dull streak of color had mounted almost to his forehead, his eyes were on fire.
"Bellamy!" he cried.

"Bellamy!" Words failed him suddenly.

He leaned against the table, breathless, panting heavily.
"For God's sake, man," Bellamy began,-- "Alone!" Dorward interrupted.

"I must see you alone! I have news!" Mademoiselle Idiale rose.