Mystery at Geneva: An Improbable Tale of Singular HappeningsMacaulay, Rose
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Mystery at Geneva: An Improbable Tale of Singular Happenings
Macaulay, Rose
Detective and mystery stories; Geneva (Switzerland) -- Fiction
After what seemed to Henry, unversed in these matters, a great deal of
unnecessary voting on the part of the Assembly and of the Council, it
was announced that the delegate for Norway, Dr. Svensen, was elected
President. Amid cheers from those delegates who were pleased, from
those who had self-control enough to conceal their vexation, and from
the public in the galleries (for Dr. Svensen was the most widely
popular figure in the Assembly), the new President took his place and
made the appropriate speech, in his sonorous English. Many in the hall
were bored, some because the new President was known to be in with the
English, who are not always liked by other nations; some because he
spoke English readily and French ill, and most of them understood
French readily and English not at all; others because he was of the
party which was bent on carrying out certain measures in Europe for
which they saw no necessity.
However, Dr. Svensen, a brief person and no word-waster, did not
detain his audience long. At six o'clock the Assembly adjourned.
7
Henry despatched a short scornful story of the proceedings to his
newspaper (which would not, he knew, print a long or effusive one),
and dined with another English journalist in a café in the old _cité_.
The other journalist, Grattan, came from Paris, and was bored with the
League and with Geneva. He preferred to report crime and blood,
something, as he said, with guts in it. Statesmen assembled together
made him yawn. For his part, he wished something would happen during
the Assembly worth writing home about--some _crime passionnel_, some
blood and thunder melodrama. "Perhaps," said Henry, hopefully, "it
will."
"Well, it may. All these hot-blooded Latins and Slavs herded
together ought to be able to produce something.... I bet you the
Spanish Americans are hatching something to-night over there...." He
waved his hand in the direction of the other side of the lake, where
the great hotels blazed their thousand windows into the night. Behind
those windows burnt who knew what of passion and of plot?
8
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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