here was work still to be done--his
country's work....

He felt the need of change of scene. The sight of the place with its
placid, enervating beauty, its constant appeal to the senses, was
beginning to have a curious effect upon his nerves. He turned back upon
the Terrace, and by means of the least frequented streets he passed
through the town and up towards the hills. He walked steadily, reckless
of time or direction. He had lunch at a small inn high above the road
from Cannes, and it was past three o'clock when he turned homewards. He
had found his way into the main road now and he trudged along heedless
of the dust with which the constant procession of automobiles covered
him all the while. The exercise had done him good. He was able to keep
his thoughts focussed upon his mission. So far, at any rate, he had held
his own. His dispatches to London had been clear and vivid. He had told
them exactly what he had feared, he had shown them the inside of this
scheme as instinct had revealed it to him, and he had begged for aid.
One man alone, surrounded by enemies, and in a country where all things
were possible, was in a parlous position if once the extent of his
knowledge were surmised. So far, the plot had not yet matured. So far,
though the clouds had gathered and the thunder was muttering, the storm
had not broken. The reason for that he knew--the one person needed, the
one person for whose coming all these plans had been made, had not yet
arrived. There was no telling, however, how long the respite might last.
At any moment might commence this conference, whose avowed purpose was
to break at a single blow, a single treacherous but deadly blow, the
Empire whose downfall Selingman had once publicly declared was the one
great necessity involved by his country's expansion....

Hunterleys quenched his thirst at a roadside cafe, sitting out upon the
pavement and drinking coarse red wine and soda-water. Then he bought a
packet of black cigarettes and continued his journey. He was within
sight of Monte Carlo when for the twentieth time he had to step to the
far side of the pathway to avoid being smothered in dust by an advancing
automobile. This time, by some chance, he glanced around, attracted by
the piercing character of its long-distance whistle. A high-powered grey
touring car came by, travelling at a great pace. Hunterleys stood
perfectly rigid, one hand grasping the wall by the side of which he
stood. Notwithstandin