"The peace of the world is in peril, Mr. Grimm," said Campbell
impressively, at last. "It had to come, of course, the United States and
England against a large part of Europe and all of Central and South
America. It had to come, and yet--!"

He broke off abruptly, and picked up the receiver of his desk
telephone.

"The White House, please," he requested curtly, and then, after a
moment: "Hello! Please ask the president if he will receive Mr. Campbell
immediately. Yes, Mr. Campbell of the Secret Service." There was a
pause. Mr. Grimm removed his immaculate person from the desk, and took a
chair. "Hello! In half an hour? So much!"

The pages of the Almanac de Gotha fluttered through his fingers, and
finally he leaned forward and studied a paragraph of it closely. When he
raised his eyes again there was that in them which Mr. Grimm had never
seen before--a settled, darkening shadow.

"The world-war has long been a chimera, Mr. Grimm," he remarked at last,
"but now--now! Think of it! Of course, the Central and South American
countries, taken separately, are inconsequential, and that is true, too,
of the Latin countries of Europe, except France, but taken in
combination, under one directing mind, the allied navies would be--would
be formidable, at least. Backed by the moral support of Germany, and
perhaps Japan--! Don't you see? Don't you see?"

He lapsed into silence. Mr. Grimm opened his lips to ask a question: Mr.
Campbell anticipated it unerringly: