later the boat shoved off.

A few waited to watch it make its way back to the ship, which
immediately steamed away toward the horizon; others followed the
procession headed by the invalid's chair; still others hurried ahead to
confer their patronage upon the Grand Hôtel Royal; but the greater part
hastened back to their rooms to get something hot and bracing. From one
end to the other, the place was a-buzz with wagging tongues. Why should
the foreign secretary of the British Empire have chosen Weet-sur-Mer as
his abiding place? Merely because he was ill and wished to rest? Bah! To
believe that would be to show a mind the most credulous, would be to
evince an ignorance of high diplomacy the most profound. Again, why
should he have made the journey from England in a ship of war? Depend
upon it, there was a mystery here; a mystery not to be solved in a
moment even by such eminent amateurs as those assembled at Weet-sur-Mer.
It would take time--it would take study. But it was worth it! There was
something behind all this-something more than appeared on the surface
--in a word, a Plot! And the best place to study it,--the only place,
indeed,--was the Grand Hôtel Royal.

So, instantly, there was a great packing of luggage, a despatching of
couriers, an engaging of rooms, a settling of bills which drove the
proprietor of the Splendide half mad with chagrin. He protested, he
swore, he offered concessions the most unheard of--all in vain. His day
was over!

Rushford, his work as cicérone des dames accomplished, returned
leisurely to the hotel, while the girls started for their accustomed
walk. He smiled grimly to himself as he entered the office, the scene
was so different from that of yesterday. For the moment, all was