Publisher's Synopsis
Bellamy, King's Spy, and Dorward, journalist, known to fame in every English-speakingcountry, stood before the double window of their spacious sitting-room, looking down upon thethoroughfare beneath. Both men were laboring under a bitter sense of failure. Bellamy's face wasdark with forebodings; Dorward was irritated and nervous. Failure was a new thing to him-athing which those behind the great journals which he represented understood less, even, than he.Bellamy loved his country, and fear was gnawing at his heart.Below, the crowds which had been waiting patiently for many hours broke into a tumult ofwelcoming voices. Down their thickly-packed lines the volume of sound arose and grew, a faintmurmur at first, swelling and growing to a thunderous roar. Myriads of hats were suddenly tornfrom the heads of the excited multitude, handkerchiefs waved from every window. It was awonderful greeting, this."The Czar on his way to the railway station," Bellamy remarked.
