The Red Symbol. Ironside John
CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER I
THE MYSTERIOUS FOREIGNER
“
Hello! Yes—I’m Maurice Wynn. Who are you?”
“Harding. I’ve been ringing you up at intervals for hours. Carson’s ill, and you’re to relieve him. Come round for instructions to-night. Lord Southbourne will give them you himself. Eh? Yes, Whitehall Gardens. Ten-thirty, then. Right you are.”
I replaced the receiver, and started hustling into my dress clothes, thinking rapidly the while.
For the first time in the course of ten years’ experience as a special correspondent, I was dismayed at the prospect of starting off at a moment’s notice—to St. Petersburg, in this instance.
To-day was Saturday, and if I were to go by the quickest route—the Nord express—I should have three days’ grace, but the delay at this end would not compensate for the few hours saved on the journey. No, doubtless Southbourne would expect me to get off to-morrow or Monday morning at latest. He was—and is—the smartest newspaper man in England.
Well, I still had four hours before