“What a business that was!  We heard of it long beforehand; preparations for transport, and the embarkation of the troops.  The fleet left Kamiesch, steering northward, past Sebastopol, and we thought the latter would be attacked.  But lo! next morning the enemy were not in sight; the fleet had returned to Kamiesch Bay.  What did it mean?  It was weeks before I learnt the right story, and then it came from Paris.  General Canrobert had changed his mind.  The Emperor had told him not to send away any troops, but to keep all concentrated before Sebastopol.  So the expedition to Kertch—­for it was directed against Kertch, and the northward move was only intended to deceive us—­all ended in smoke.  Can they be going again to Kertch?  It is hardly likely.  They have some deeper designs, I feel sure.  This would tally with my latest advice.  Let me read once more what the Prince says.”

He took a key from his pocket, opened his desk, and unlocked an inner receptacle, from which he took a letter in cypher.

“‘We have learnt,’ he read, fluently, without using any key, ’that the enemy contemplate a great change in their plan of operations.  It is reported that they propose to raise the siege, or at least reduce it to a mere blockade.  The great bulk of the allied army would then be transferred to sea to another point where it would take the field against our line of communications.  It is essential that we should know at the earliest date whether there is any foundation in this report.  Use every endeavour to this end.’

“Yes; there can be no doubt that this surmise is corroborated by the latest news.  But I must have more precise and correct information without delay.  How is it to be obtained?  Which of my agents can help me best?  Lavitsky?  He works in Woolwich Arsenal—­he might know if more wheeled transport had been ordered.  Or Bauer, at Portsmouth—­he would know of any movements in the fleet.  Or—­

“Of course!” and he slapped his forehead, despising his own stupidity.  “Cyprienne—­she can, and must, manage this.”

He proceeded to put back the papers into the secret drawer; he replaced the volume on the shelf, and, taking the telegram he had written in his hand, left the office, carefully locking the door behind him.

Hailing a cab, he was driven first to a telegraph-station, where he sent off his despatch, only adding the words:—­

“Other important transactions in the shipping interest will shortly be undertaken; more precise details will speedily follow.”

Then he directed the cabman to drive to Thistle Grove, Brompton.

“Is Mrs. Wilders visible yet?” he asked the servant, on reaching her house.

“Madame does not receive so early,” replied the man, a foreigner, speaking broken English, who was new to the establishment, and had never seen Mr. Hobson before.

“Take in my name!” said Mr. Hobson, peremptorily.  “It is urgent, say.  I must see her at once.”